Until Death Do Us Part
by Blue Frodo
Summary: Picks up Nightcrawler's story where Even Angels have Scars ends. Kurt finds himself faced with decisions regarding his family, his foster family, and his extended circus family. The choices he makes will impact his and their entire lives.
1. Autumn Leaves Must Fall

_"I wasn't bothering anyone. Why can't you just leave me alone?"_

Kurt slid a clean black t-shirt over his head and left the backstage tent. He had lingered longer than usual and was alone on the path that lead towards the performers' living quarters, now a bright circle of trailers and tents. He could already hear the music and pitched chatter of voices telling him that the Les Chansons wrap party was already underway. It had been the last time Les Chansons de la Forêt would ever be performed and it seemed to Kurt that the whole circus regarded the event with a mixture of emotions that was part relief and part regret.

The show had been wildly successful, beyond even Wolfgang's imaginings. They played to a "straw house", circus parlance for a sold out performance, nearly every night and often afterwards members of the audience stayed behind to compliment their performances. It was a wonderful feeling, but they were exhausted. Unlike previous years they had not packed up and headed for winter quarters when it grew to cold too play in the tent, but booked themselves into indoor performance spaces, adapting the show to play in amphitheaters and concert halls. With Kurt's brief convalescence as the sole exception, they had toured for over a year, playing 8 shows a week, without a break. It was time for the merry-go-round to stop. Fall had at last come to the perpetual summer that was the mythical forest in which the story took place. Given the length of the tour, Kurt suspected this party would go on well into the night.

He could already picture it in his head. James, despite Brin's pleadings with him to come dance and despite having just finished directing a two hour show, would be at his keyboards or perhaps strumming a guitar with a huge grin on his face, surrounded by the Circus Gehlhaar band. Their audience would be Kurt's fellow performers who would no doubt find something as mundane as dancing an unacceptable way to celebrate. Fully warmed up from the evening's performance, they would be performing stunts that far exceeded what the paying customers had seen less than an hour before in an effort both to entertain and outdo each other. Whatever worries they might have had about the future would be put aside for an evening at least while they celebrated their accomplishments.

And they had a lot to celebrate. For Lars, Petra, Gretchen, and to a much lesser degree for him, it was their first time having such important roles within the show; it marked the transition from "circus brat" to "star attraction". Kurt had been playing these kinds of roles since he was very young, but he'd always known that the reason for this was his appearance. This time he wasn't a younger performer presented as a novelty. On stage with his peers as his equals at last, he had finally come into his own and could at last stop feeling like the circus mascot. Like Papa or Sven, it was now his skills that made him special and no longer his appearance. He could see himself with three of them, smiling and relaxed, so different than they had felt earlier that evening before the show.

While Kurt had waited at the curtain flap to make his solitary entrance he had been surprised by the unfamiliar tickle of butterflies in his stomach. Looking around the small backstage tent he had realized that he wasn't the only one stricken with an unexpected case of the jitters, nearly everyone else wore the same sullen expression that he did, as though they were about to go on trial rather than on stage. It was not the show they were worried about he knew, but what came after. When they left here, they would need to write and rehearse a new show, a prospect that was far more frightening than going on stage.

Could they do it again? Would the next show be as good or, as every artist hopes, be an improvement. Maybe what was so vexing was that sometimes it didn't feel so much like that they had created the show as it had _happened_ to them. Would lightening strike twice or would Europe be left wondering what happened to that little circus who had seemed so promising and was never seen again? For one night at least, none of that mattered. And for many of Circus Gehlhaar's members, they had more to celebrate than just the close of a successful show.

For James and Brin, this night marked the completion of their first circus show as composer and choreographer and moreover showed that a "sheltered city kid from Manhattan" and his girlfriend could indeed survive on the road with a European traveling circus. Wolfgang had, of course, at last fulfilled his dream of creating something huge and "putting Circus Gehlhaar on the map". And given the positive reviews that continued to pour in via the news clipping service he had subscribed to, it wasn't just the audience who loved the show; the critics adored it as well. There were equal chances that he would be at the party, his arm draped casually over Maria's shoulder, or in his office already planning Circus Gehlhaar's next artistic tour de force. Kurt hoped it would be the former. He missed the days of driving with Wolfgang in the lorry making up silly nursery rhymes and sitting under the trees in the afternoon talking about music and books and movies. He couldn't remember the last time they'd fenced each other. It was always he, Lars, and Amanda now taking turns on the makeshift strip they'd marked out in tape on the tent floor.

Kurt shut his eyes and could see Christian dancing right up in front, his lanky build and goofy dancing style making it unimaginable that he could perform his bicycle tricks with such grace and athleticism. He lingered on his mind's image of Amanda, dancing with Christian no doubt, celebrating her first time performing with the circus she'd traveled with for her entire life. And standing a little bit back, surveying the scene in silence would be Margali, ever wise and watchful, a mother to them all.

In sudden flash of inspiration, Kurt pictured himself cutting in on Christian and asking her to dance. The idea made him smile and at the same time he felt his ears and cheeks grow hot. Did he dare?

There were no lights along the path, but that never mattered to him. It seemed that his eyes could pick out detail in darkness that no one else's could. That was why he didn't expect to be taken by surprise by a group of strangers on the path. They were just strolling through the darkness as though they did it all the time. He had barely a moment to leap into the trees above them.

"Wait, stop. What was that?"

Kurt watched in dismay as their footfalls came to a pause directly below him. There were three of them, and he was surprised to hear them speaking in English. They wore the same kind of baggy pants and shaggy haircuts that Christian favored. He had been thinking about the party, seeing his friends and family in his mind's eye and listening to the music playing in his head rather than the sounds in the world around him. Kurt shut his eyes and cursed his carelessness.

"Dude, I didn't hear anything. Let's go find him," another voice said.

Kurt's brow creased as he wondered who they were looking for.

"No, wait you guys, I swear something's up there." There was a long pause and Kurt could imagine the speaker's friends trying to figure out if he friend was serious or not. Kurt held his breath and released it with a sigh of relief a moment later when the three of them cracked up.

It was a familiar pattern. Whoever they were, they sounded like Christian too; not just like Americans, but the slow lazy English peppered with made up sounding words and cadences that constantly teetered on the edge of both humor and seriousness. It was this idiosyncrasy that gave Kurt the most trouble, so that even after knowing him for years, Christian was the only one who could still play practical jokes on Kurt just so long as they were delivered in his native California dialect.

After a minute or two of laughter and exchanging teasing remarks, they started walking again. Kurt, who had been holding his breath exhaled gratefully. He hadn't forgotten the episode in the trees in France four years earlier. The circumstances here were completely different, but still it wasn't something he wanted to repeat in any form. Kurt craned his neck to watch their progress; glad they were leaving though curious as to whom they were looking for.

There was something frightening about them though Kurt couldn't place it. Something about seeing three people together wearing baggy clothes bothered him as though within their slow drawling voices was a hidden menace that only he knew was there. Kurt leaned out a little further to make sure they were really gone. He put his hand out to grab a branch and it snapped off, falling to the ground with a rustle of leaves. Gritting his teeth, Kurt regained his balance and slid back to a more stable spot. Why did he have to pick that moment, out of his entire life, to be clumsy?

"There is something up there," one of them said. They dashed back to stand in the spot below Kurt and peered into the trees, straining to see into the darkness. So slowly that he hardly appeared to be moving at all, Kurt inched his way closer to the tree's thick trunk where he could blend in better.

"Why do these things always have to happen to me," he wondered miserably. It was hard to imagine that just a few minutes before he had been daydreaming about being at a party. The image of Amanda dancing faded from his mind as warmth turned to chill. His head filled instead with images of himself being pulled from the tree by rough hands, forced to the ground, and kicked. He found his rosary in his pocket and clenched it in his hands, willing them to stop shaking, and for his heart to stop hammering so loud it seemed to be drowning out the music from the party. Kurt shut his eyes, leaning against the cool bark of the tree. "You're safe here in the dark," he kept telling himself over and over, "they won't see you in the dark."

"Dude, got a flashlight?"

Kurt's breath caught in his throat at the words and he swallowed hard, trying to will his lungs to start working again. He shook his head. "Please say no. Please say no. No no no," he changed his mantra. Chanting it inaudibly, his lips moving, but without any sound coming out.

There was an exasperated sigh. "That would be negatory," said one of them in the familiar clipped voice Christian always used when he was losing his patience. Kurt drew in a relieved breath and exhaled. They would go away. They were going to leave him alone.

"Well, let me get mine. I want to see what's up there."

Kurt watched hopelessly as one of the silhouettes struggled for a moment to pull his arms out of the straps of his backpack and let it drop to the ground. He knew they couldn't see him in the trees, but if they shined a flashlight at him, they would. He wondered if he should just teleport. They would hear it, but they wouldn't be able to follow. He knew how it worked, how afterwards they would talk about the "creepy thing that happened to them in the woods", the rustling in the trees, the weird voices (which he was about to provide if only he could breathe normally), and finally the odd banging sound that seemed to signal the end of their troubles. Kurt opened his mouth to speak but his throat was so dry that nothing came out.

"Found it!" The figure below held up his hand in triumph. Kurt cringed, reflexively holding his hands, still clutching his rosary defensively up in front of his face. A moment later a white light shining up into his eyes blinded him.

Kurt held his hands up to his eyes and squinted. There was a long moment where nobody did or said anything. Kurt tried to shift and see beyond the glare, but his night vision was ruined rendering him as good as blind. Momentarily disorientated, he couldn't teleport either. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do but wait and be ready to defend himself if necessary.

But to his surprise the beam of light moved away from him as it's owner trained it on various tree branches.

"See anything?" One of them asked.

"No, it was a bird or something. Probably flew away." The flashlight holder said with a shrug. He shined the light around some more, passing over Kurt two or three more times without stopping. Kurt was so relieved he almost started laughing. They couldn't see him. He was safe. It was going to be all right.

"This is dumb Drew, let's go. We've got to find our boy and I want to talk to my hottie red head."

At the mention his "red head" Kurt felt his insides freeze. There was only one red head in the circus.

Amanda. They were talking about Amanda. Fear momentarily forgotten, Kurt moved forward. What did they want with Amanda? He inched back out on to the branch again, leaving the safety of the trunk behind he watched as "Drew" bent down and pulled his arms back through the straps of his pack. Kurt wasn't going to let them hurt her. As soon as they were out sight, he was going to teleport to where Amanda was and protect her from these people. His jaw was set in grim determination as he watched the Americans made their way towards the camp again, laughing amongst each other and chiding Drew over the flashlight.

"Thank you," Kurt whispered with a glance at the sky as he quickly made the sign of the cross over his chest. Almost as though in answer the branch below him broke.

The three Americans stopped and turned around.

Kurt tried to grab for another branch as he fell, but it broke too and he hit the ground with a thump as branches and leaves scattered around him. He was on his feet in an instant, shaking twigs from his hair as he faced his attackers. Drew, who evidently hadn't put the flashlight away, switched it on, shining the light into Kurt's face.

"Whoa. There was something up there," he said.

He had a split second to make a decision, but in that split second he remembered the humiliation of being tied up by Franco followed by Martuska's subsequent admonishment. This was peppered with the fractured half memories that were everything that happened on the Brighton Pier, he could recall being pinned to the floor by Stephani, leaping through tree branches on the run from men with guns and their dogs. He thought of Amanda, dancing with Christian when she could have been dancing with him, oblivious to the fact that these three strangers had come here looking for her. In that split second was condensed every moment he had ever spent running, hiding, or submitting. They were the only memories he had because it was all he had ever done.

They'd been trying to find him in that tree. They wanted to pull him down, to hurt him. He was sure of it. And if that weren't bad enough, they were talking about Amanda too. He wasn't going to let them hurt her, he wouldn't let them even touch her. For a moment no one moved as they regarded each other. Kurt realized he wasn't sure if he could move; it felt as though his feet had become rooted to the spot.

"Uh, Dude, what are… Are you okay… Um…" one of them stammered.

Kurt was moving before he even realized what he was doing. It was with a feeling of dreamlike unreality that Kurt closed the distance between them and snarling, threw himself at the flashlight holder hard enough to knock him to the ground. The source of the bright white light turned out to be a tiny keychain that Kurt extinguished as he ripped it from its owner's hand.

"Help! Get it off me!" he shouted. Kurt jumped back and stood over him with his tail twitching from side to side.

"Why are you looking for me? What do you want with Amanda?" Kurt demanded without realizing he'd spoken to him in German.

"What? I… I… don't speak…" The one on the ground started to say.

"Tell me! Tell why!" Still shouting in German, Kurt leaned in closer, trying to look as menacing as possible while years of playing an endless variety of demons and devils for the circus told him he didn't have to try very hard.

"What the hell? It was just a flashlight, what's your problem…" A voice from behind him said and Kurt felt a hand close around his arm.

Kurt didn't let him finish. He whirled around, balling one of his sturdy hands into a fist and swinging as hard as he could.

"I wasn't bothering anyone," Kurt shouted. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He felt hands grabbing at him and he teleported away only to return, leaping at his assailants from a new direction in an attempt to surprise them. They couldn't touch him; he wouldn't let them hurt him this time. This time he would hurt them and he would not stop until they understood that he was not a freak, that he was just trying to live his life, like they were, just like everybody else. He ignored the fact that it felt wrong, because wrong or not, it needed to be done. He needed to do it.

"Kurt? Holy shit Kurt, what are you doing?"

It was someone shouting in German that snapped him back to reality. He froze in place staring at his hand, which was slick with blood. He wasn't sure how it had gotten there. Had he really hit someone hard enough to make them bleed? His face was wet and when Kurt put a hand to his cheek, he realized he was crying.

Wolfgang and Lars were jogging down the hill towards him. It had been Wolfgang who had yelled.

"We heard shouting," Wolfgang said breathlessly. "What happened?"

"I… I was attacked… in the dark. They, they came after me," Kurt said trying to catch his breath, the strange suffocating feeling he'd felt in the tree was returning only this time it was for a different reason. He dropped to his knees with the sudden desire to curl up on the ground and never get up again.

"Are you okay?" Lars asked.

Kurt looked up, staring at Lars. "I'm…" But he couldn't answer. The way Lars was looking at him bothered him. He'd never seen that expression on Lars' face before. It was… Pity.

Lars switched on the large flashlight the Olson's kept in their trailer and trained it on the ground, picking up the silhouettes of his attackers, but Wolfgang kept staring at Kurt and Kurt realized that along with his shouting, they must have heard him teleporting, doing it over and over again.

"Why did you keep coming back?" Wolfgang asked him. Kurt could feel his gaze locked on him and he couldn't look away. He wasn't sure what to say other than what he had already said. Looking around him, the idea that these three scruffy Americans, now groaning and getting to their feet, represented a threat to anyone in the circus, particularly him, suddenly seemed ridiculous.

"I…" Kurt froze, his mouth open, unsure of what to say next. What was he doing? Alone, he had been sure he was in danger, but now, with Wolfgang and Lars here it all seemed so foolish.

"Here," Lars said tapping Kurt on the shoulder with a closed fist. Kurt turned and saw that Lars had his rosary, which must have fallen on the ground. He took it silently, running the beads over his hand and realizing they matched up with the drying blood. Kurt shut his eyes. It was like some kind of nightmare. He could see now that he had completely misjudged the situation, but moments ago he had been sure, so sure that his actions were right. But alone in the dark like that how could he have known?

It was one of the Americans, his voice thick and nasal sounding, that made Kurt realize exactly how wrong he'd been.

"Does anyone speak English?" he said, "We're here looking for a friend of ours. Christian Alexander. He's the guy who rides the bikes. Can anyone understand what I'm saying?"


	2. California Dreaming

_"They'll find you and they'll take you away. They'll lock you up and they'll experiment on you and it won't matter why you did what you did, just that you did it."_

"I can't believe you guys made it." Christian said. Thankfully he had the trailer to himself because even though theirs was the largest, four adults in its main seating compartment was really all that was comfortable. He smiled sheepishly as he handed over a few clean towels. When Drew had contacted Christian a month ago telling him they would be in Europe this wasn't quite the reunion he had expected.

Drew accepted a towel and held it to his nose. Christian checked the faucet. No water as usual so he grabbed another towel and soaked it with water from their gallon jug. Amanda, who took care of most of the laundry, was going to be pissed.

Drew exchanged towels with a nod while Christian saw to Brett and Kyle. The four of them had all competed on the BMX circuit together when Christian was still living in the U.S. The only difference had been that they were winning competitions and Christian wasn't. So while the three of them had stayed, Christian had left to see if he could fare better in the as yet unsaturated extreme sports world of Europe. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately as it turned out for Circus Gehlhaar, Europe did not yet have enough interest in bicycle tricks or skateboarding to support a real competition circuit.

"I'm sorry about Kurt. He got jumped a couple of months ago so now he's kind of…" Christian let his voice trail off and filled the silence by passing out the rest of their clean towels.

He was still trying to make sense of the last few minutes. The idea of Kurt beating up on his friends was nearly impossible to imagine and he still wasn't exactly sure what had happened. He couldn't imagine Kurt doing such a thing without provocation but at the same time he couldn't see Drew, Kyle, or Brett, the three mellowest guys in the world, provoking him.

"We're roommates," Christian said, suddenly filled with the need to defend Kurt's actions. "Kurt's a good guy, really. You'd like him if you'd met him in different…" But at a look from Drew, Christian let his voice trail off again.

He sat down with his eyes closed. "Dude, I'm really sorry about what happened. Like I said, some people beat him up pretty bad and then," Christian paused wondering how to explain everything else that happened to Kurt that summer, having to leave the circus, disappearing and then reappearing before anyone actually knew he was missing, those scars that everyone refused to talk about. How could he explain what he couldn't even understand? "I just think he's kind of nervous now, about people, because he looks different, you know?" Christian finished at last. But it sounded inadequate even to him.

"Hey, it's cool dude," Drew said rubbing his nose. "He scared me more than anything. He's a pretty crappy fighter. Still, I nearly pissed myself. I thought that was a costume."

Christian managed a strained laugh.

"So you caught the show at least?" Christian asked, desperate to change the subject to anything but Kurt.

"The show rocked," Kyle said, "I can't believe that was the last one."

"I can," Christian said, he listened to the party still going on outside the trailer, oblivious to what had happened, proof that he wasn't the only one glad the tour was over. "Dude, we played that show so many times I used to dream about it."

"Like dream about it in a good way, or dream about screwing it up?" Drew asked.

"Just that I was doing it. I'd hit the pillow and I'd be on stage again like, 'dude! I already did this twice today! I need a break.'" Christian laughed and was relieved when his friends laughed too. "So what are you guys up to?"

"We're taking a break from the Transworld Europe Extreme tour," Brett said with a flourish. He shrugged. "It's been pretty good. We're not competing, it's more like a goodwill thing between American and European companies."

Christian nodded. "When I came out here a couple years ago I was trying to get in on the ground floor with that but there weren't enough riders."

"There are now," Drew said, "you should come back."

"Can't," Christian said, "I wasn't winning remember. All my sponsors dropped me."

"That was then," Drew said, "I bet it would be different now."

"What do you mean?" Christian asked.

"He means you're pulling some sick tricks," Kyle said. "Dude, I'm afraid to even try half the things you did out there tonight."

Christian smiled in spite of himself. "Really?"

"Yeah," Drew said, "throwing yourself over the handlebars and flipping the bike over so you land back on the seat? How do you do that?"

Christian's smile widened. "I worked really hard on that," he said.

"It was cool."

"So, you think I'd start winning contests if I came back to the states?" Christian asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He looked around the trailer. It was finally feeling like home to him. Then again, he'd always hated the way he'd run away from the BMX competition circuit with his tail between his legs. What if he could go back and be triumphant? Would it be worth leaving this place?

"You totally would," Drew said. Kyle and Brett nodded in agreement.

"Check it out, I've got a clothing sponsorship from a German company that's interested in getting into the American market. You could come with us and meet the rep. You speak German. They'd love you," Kyle said.

"Oh," Christian was suddenly flustered, "I've got to think about it. I've got a pretty good gig here."

"Well, you should at least come with us for a little while," Drew said. "I mean, you said you're done with the show right?"

Christian scratched his head. It would be cool to have the four of them together again even if for just a little while. And the image of himself on the winners platform was almost intoxicating, a dream come true. "Well," he said, "we do have to be in Hamburg in Germany in about a week, but yeah, I'll think about that." But even as he said it, he was nodding his head yes.

* * *

Kurt sat in Wolfgang and Maria's trailer squeezing his eyes shut and wishing that it were possible for a person to, by sheer force of will, to melt or shatter into a million pieces. He wanted to simply hide in his bunk in the dark forever, but since Christian shared his trailer and he was there with his friends who he'd attacked a few minutes ago, that wasn't possible. So he just sat there, his winding and unwinding his tail around one of legs of the chair he was sitting in and waited.

"What were you thinking?" Wolfgang asked.

Kurt opened his eyes and looked from where Wolfgang was pacing across to where Maria stood with her arms fold across her chest. She looked stern, but also concerned. Wolfgang looked livid, almost hysterical. Kurt shrank back. He wanted to say he wasn't thinking, that he had made a mistake, but that wasn't really true. He had made a mistake yes, but he had been thinking, he'd just been thinking the wrong things. "I don't know," he said.

"You can't beat up members of the audience." Wolfgang said.

"I know," Kurt said.

"Then why were you doing it?"

Kurt shook his head again and rubbed the palm of his hand where the beads of his rosary had cut into it and made him bleed. "I don't know," he said at last.

Wolfgang whirled away from him, running his hands through his hair. "You can't do things like that Kurt. You can't draw attention to yourself that way."

"But… But what if I thought they might hurt me?" Kurt asked.

"But they weren't going to hurt you. They were looking for Christian." Wolfgang said.

Without thinking, Kurt pulled his feet in beneath him so he was perched in the chair instead of sitting in it. "But I didn't know that," Kurt tried to explain. "I thought they were saying something different. I thought they…"

Wolfgang spun back around. "Don't you understand that that doesn't matter?" He asked Kurt, leaning in so close that Kurt felt pinned to the chair, feeling nearly as threatened as he had just a few minutes before in the tree. "They'll find you and they'll take you away Kurt. They'll lock you up and they'll experiment on you and it won't matter why you did what you did, just that you did it."

"Wolfgang…" Maria tried to interrupt.

Kurt was speechless. He had no idea what Wolfgang was talking about. He didn't know what to think about what had happened on the path and he certainly couldn't even begin to figure it out here, with Wolfgang screaming things that made even less sense at him. "I …" he began but there wasn't anything he could think of to say. He just wanted to get out of there.

"No listen Kurt, you've got to promise me you'll be more careful," Wolfgang said.

"But I…"

"Promise!" Wolfgang shouted shoving Kurt's chair back against the wall.

Kurt shook his head in surprise, too shocked by Wolfgang's behavior to say anything.

"Wolfgang stop it!" Maria yelled. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away. They struggled a moment and the motion caused the chair Kurt had been perched in to topple to the ground. He landed lightly on his feet, not sure what was even happening anymore, but ready to defend Maria if necessarily since it appeared that Wolfgang had apparently gone mad.

"Enough!" Maria shouted at her fiancé. "Enough of this."

Wolfgang seemed to deflate where he was standing, his and Maria's arms still locked together. "I know what I'm talking about," he said in a low voice, "I know what I'm talking about because I've seen it happen."

Maria shook her head. "You think you saw it happen," she said. Kurt watched her brush a tear from Wolfgang's cheek.

Kurt took a few steps towards the door. He didn't understand what was happening but it didn't seem like he was needed any longer, the conversation had turned inward and didn't include him.

"Kurt, I know what I'm talking about," Wolfgang said suddenly. Kurt stopped with his hand on the doorknob of their trailer, feeling caught. "They'll come for you if you're not careful. They'll come and they'll take you away."

Closing his hand tighter around the knob Kurt asked, "who?"

"Nobody," Maria said. "Nobody's coming for anyone. Stop it Wolfgang. Enough."

Kurt looked from Maria to Wolfgang and back again. What were they talking about? "Who's going to come for me?" Kurt asked again.

Wolfgang looked like he wanted to speak but was oddly silent. Maria gave him a long look, mouthed the word "no" and turned away, walking back into the depths of the trailer where their sleeping area was. Wolfgang shook his head.

"Nobody," he said. "It's just crazy stories, urban legends. Go back to your trailer Kurt. If you see Christian, tell him I want to talk to him." Wolfgang turned away.

"Wolfgang?" Kurt asked.

"Forget it," Wolfgang said without turning back, "you can go. Just be more careful okay?"

Kurt nodded. He released the catch to the door and flung it open. Once outside he took great gulps of air as though he'd been suffocating inside of Wolfgang's trailer. He leaned against it with his eyes closed and let himself slide down the cool metal into a sitting position on the ground next to it. Without thinking his hand strayed to his pocket and he withdrew his rosary, wrapping the beads comfortingly around his hand as he tried not to think about how the world seemed to have gone mad and thanked God that the argument raging inside the trailer was in a language he didn't speak.


	3. Europe by Train

_"…"_

Kurt cracked the door of their trailer and peeked in. It was empty. Without bothering to open the door the rest of the way, he teleported to the bunks he and Christian shared and pulled his battered rucksack out from under it along with his shoes. He made a face staring at them. He hated shoes more than anything. He left the lights off as he packed, hastily pulling his clothes from their drawers and stuffing them into his pack. He put the shoes on top; he didn't need them yet, and then put on his hooded coat.

There was a moment of strangeness when Kurt looked around the darkened trailer and realized that Christian's things seemed to be missing as well. He shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now.

When he was packed, Kurt peeked around the door again, but no one was in sight. Amazingly, it seemed that barely anyone was aware of the little drama that had played out on the path between the tents and their living quarters and the music thumped undisturbed the whole time. Kurt thought of James and Brin and all the others he would have liked to see and spend time with for a moment reconsidered. Then he thought of Wolfgang's voice "they'll find you and they'll lock you up…"

Who? Who would find him? He thought about the way he'd felt hiding up in the tree. He didn't feel safe anymore, but he didn't know whom he was supposed to be afraid of. Azazel? Those three friends of Christians? Or some nameless "they" that Wolfgang seemed so upset about? There was nobody here who could help him anymore. It seemed that he had only just returned and now he was leaving again. But he needed answers.

Kurt had intended to teleport into the bushes to avoid being seen, but instead he slowly stepped from the trailer as though giving the circus one last chance to stop him. He stood a moment, feeling oddly out of breath even though he hadn't been running. Nobody came; he was alone. And so, with a sad last glance at his surroundings, Kurt teleported into the depths of the trees to start a new journey.

* * *

It didn't take him long to find the train station. He found the tracks quickly and then teleported along them until he could see lights of the city and the station in the distance. After that he walked. It was a clear fall night, the kind of night that he and Amanda used to climb up onto the top of their old van to look at the stars and the moon. He'd always loved those times together, life had seemed so simple, so…normal. Now nothing seemed simple or normal anymore. Kurt pushed his hood back so he could see the stars and kept walking trying to enjoy the strange freedom of being outside and alone.

Kurt stopped following the tracks as they neared the switchyard and climbed up an embankment to where the station sat. He sat down for a moment and prepared, pulling his shoes from his pack and making sure his hood was well over his face and ears. Taking a deep breath Kurt teleported the rest of the way to a spot just out of sight of the station's entrance and then stepped around the corner. He immediately stepped back. There were a lot of people in the station. More than he expected for what had looked like a fairly small town. He didn't like to be alone in large crowds.

Kurt frowned. If he couldn't go in the station, he couldn't get to where he needed to go and if he couldn't get to where he needed to go, there would be no one to answer his questions. He would have to go back to the circus to spend his life frightened and wondering and that wasn't an option. Kurt took a deep breath, rounded the corner, and plunged into the crowd without looking up. He let their feet guide him into the heart of the train station where the ticket counters sat.

Pulling his hood further around his face Kurt risked a glance around the station. Above the ticket counter was lighted sign with destinations and times on it. Off to the side was a large map with colored lines on it. From his spot in the shadows he watched a man and a woman step up to the counter and saw them exchange money for tickets with the clerk on the other side of the window. It looked simple enough except for the exchange. Kurt pulled one hand out of his pocket and stared at it. They would see him. Even if he turned his face away, they would still see his hands. It was too close, too well lit.

He glanced up at the lighted signboard again and realized it only had information for local trains on it. Feeling more and more overwhelmed Kurt took a second look back at the map. He would need to connect trains, perhaps more than once. He'd done this before as well, but once again he was hardly aware of it. His hood had been covering his face as he was guided, nearly blind through the station, and on to the next train.

Kurt put his hands back in his pockets and realized that there was an obstacle much greater than his appearance, and one that couldn't so easily be overcome. He didn't have any money. Even if he could go to the ticket booth and even if he could figure out all the connections, none of it mattered because he didn't have any money to buy a ticket. It hadn't even occurred to him. Though he was sure his act with Circus Gehlhaar brought in plenty of money, he'd never actually been paid. He'd never been in a situation where he needed his own money until now.

He didn't know what to do or where to go. He was as good as trapped wherever the circus was. Kurt sighed and, feeling extra clumsy because of his shoes, clomped past the ticket counter and onto the platform. The train was waiting, its doors open as the occasional passenger hopped aboard. Nobody seemed to be checking tickets. He wondered what would happen if he just got on. Kurt shut his eyes and tried to remember. He shook his head, they checked the tickets on the train, if he got on without one it would only make things worse.

He wondered if he could perhaps hold on to the outside of the train somehow. He was so dark and it was nighttime, perhaps no one would notice him if he crouched between the cars. He walked along the cars thinking about this plan. It certainly didn't sound very comfortable. He looked up at the gantry arm connecting the train to its power supply. Perhaps if this was one of the old diesel trains he'd ridden as a child that plan might have worked. But this was one of the sleek new high-speed electric trains like the one he'd ridden with Father Dietrich last summer. Kurt remembered watching the blur of the European landscape through the window, like a speeded up film; he couldn't imagine he'd be able to hold on for very long.

The sound of men shouting grabbed Kurt's attention and he craned his neck to look between train cars and across several sets of tracks to where he could see two men throwing parcels into a windowless gray train car with large heavy doors. He scratched his chin wondering how he could find out where that train was going. His thoughts were interrupted by a terse announcement, a buzzer, and the closing of the passenger train's doors; a moment later the train shot out of the station with such speed that Kurt was glad he hadn't tried to hang on.

Kurt checked to see that that station was empty and when he was sure no one was watching, teleported to the other set of tracks. It was a mail train that the men were loading and even with the additional boxes they were tossing through the door, there would be plenty of room inside. Kurt crouched down behind a cart, keeping his eyes on the inside of the car. He watched as the last item was thrown and the men put their shoulders against the door and pushed. As the door closed he tried to paint a picture of the inside of the car into his memory. It was a strange jumble of boxes and parcels in there and he didn't want to get it wrong. As the door slammed shut Kurt teleported, his shod feet setting down neatly on top of a wooden crate. He smiled. He wouldn't need a ticket after all.

With the door closed there was hardly any light in the mail car, but it was enough. It wasn't very comfortable, but he would be safe there. Though, as Kurt listened to the sound of the train's idling engine slide into gear and felt the familiar rocking motion of the car, he couldn't help but regret his separation from the passengers. Trains were the only opportunity he ever had to spend time with people outside the circus, and now once again he was separated from them. He only hoped the train was going in the right direction.

* * *

Kurt checked his destinations by listening to the porters. It was strange how suddenly a lifetime of European travel had given him a skill he never knew he had. Whenever the door to the car opened he listened not only to the language they spoke, but how they spoke it, fitting their speech patterns into the local dialects he'd been hearing all his life.

They never knew he was there of course. Had any of them looked directly above the inside of the doorway, they might have gotten quite a shock to see what was staring down at them, but none did. And as Kurt watched the various porters, who seemed to be ubiquitously course and sweaty no matter where in Europe you where, he wondered why the same term was given to acrobats like Sven and Nils, as though he, as a flyer were nothing more than a very entertaining piece of luggage to be thrown around on stage. What did they call them in America? "Catchers", Kurt remembered, but it seemed an even stranger term, as though he spent all his time falling.

He had stowed away on the train outside of Dresden and had been lucky enough that it was traveling east. Unfortunately Kurt quickly realized that the train's destination was to the south and the longer he stayed on it, the more off course he strayed. He was going to have to switch trains if he was going to reach his destination rather than end up in Munich, which he understood to be this train's final stop.

Kurt spent several uncomfortable hours creeping around a switchyard in southeastern Germany before he found a train that was suitable and it was with some relief that Kurt finally heard the porters (or "throwers" as he decided to call them) speaking in French. When their French got better and more refined, or at least they sounded like they thought they were more refined, he knew he was near his destination at last. Paris, France.

The last stop was the most difficult. The changing landscape of boxes and crates had made it easy for Kurt to hide his own bag as well as his shoes, but he knew that when the train reached it's final destination the compartment would be emptied. He waited in his usual spot above the door, his rucksack on his shoulders and his shoes tied to the back. He'd already tried to see if he could hold on to the door's hardware while wearing them and while it might have made a good comedy routine, it wasn't going to make for a quick get away.

Kurt had never been to Paris. He'd never been in any of the large cities Circus Gehlhaar might have passed through, at least not in any meaningful way. He'd seen Barcelona, Spain a few times through the windows of the van, and had traveled to Hamburg in Germany many times. But he had always been quickly loaded into a car or trailer and taken somewhere else. He'd never walked on a city street before, and definitely not a city as grand as Paris.

Outside the train yard however, was hardly a city at all. The buildings looked old and abandoned. Kurt looked around him and couldn't see any signs of life at all. Off in the distance though, he spotted the Eiffel Tower. It seemed like a good enough landmark and so leaving on his accursed shoes just in case he ran into anyone, Kurt started walking, always making sure to keep the Eiffel Tower in his sight.


	4. Paris in the Fall

_"Mesdames et messieurs! Directement d'Allemagne! Ici à Paris pour un jour, et un jour seulement! Please welcome the Incredible Nightcrawler!"_

Kurt stared at his own reflection in the murky water as he waited for the sun to come up. He was starving, sore from having slept on crates and boxes, and now everything was slightly damp from the morning dew that had settled over it. He was almost as uncomfortable as he'd been while living in the woods outside of Martuska's camp. He couldn't help but think longingly of his warm bunk with the circus. It was hard to believe how easily he'd left it behind to go off on this wild goose chase.

He'd arrived in Paris in the middle of the night and after walking through the outskirts had finally found himself in the city proper a few hours before dawn. He taken advantage of the darkness and found a comfortable spot beneath on of the many bridges spanning the River Seine. Now he sat, troll like beneath it, staring at the water and wondering what to do next. The idea that had seemed so urgent the night before had lost none of its immediacy, but Kurt was realizing he could have planned things better.

He had never been in a major city before and so he hadn't known what to expect. In many ways he still wasn't sure to expect. In the early morning light he was still very much alone and so he sat on the river bank watching the first rays of the sun passing over buildings that all seemed to have been built of stone from the same quarry. A few ducks passed by, oblivious that Kurt was any different from any other person who might spend time by the river. They cut a beeline for him to see if he had any bread to throw them. It made Kurt realize that traveling with no money and very little food had not been the smartest thing. He'd eaten the two sandwiches he'd brought with him on the train, carefully rationing them as he traveled. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd eaten.

Kurt turned his pocket inside out so any remaining crumbs fell into the water.

He watched the ducks scrambling for bit of his sandwiches and thought about what he was going to do for his own breakfast. He had no idea how he was going to get anything to eat, not to mention the fact that he had no idea how to get to his destination.

"Comment est-ce que je trouve 22 Rue le Verrier, Monsieur Duck?" Kurt asked. The ducks response was a continued search for crumbs. Kurt shrugged.

The clanging of a church bell made him jump. He twisted around to try and see where it was coming from, but the bridge was blocking his view. He gathered up his things, bid farewell to his ducks and climbed the embankment back to the street. The church bell was still clanging and when he looked up, he gasped. He must have been very tired indeed not to have noticed the Notre-Dame Cathedral when he'd arrived the night before.

Kurt stood on the bridge and stared at it for a long time. He'd been to churches all over Europe, explored both their insides and outsides by night. He knew all of the architectural styles from the old Georgian and Romanesque Churches of the early Christians to the more modern styles, always favoring the old Gothic churches with their ornate windows and steep roofs. He visited hundreds in his travels, but he'd never seen anything like this. Father Dietrich's church, St. Stephan's had the same type of gothic architecture, but it was a fraction of the size. It looked like the entire church would fit inside the entranceway with room to spare. Kurt crossed the bridge for a closer look.

It was wonderful. No, more than that, Kurt thought, it was… awesome. He couldn't even imagine how such a grand thing had been built. The front façade was impressive, but as he wandered around the grounds he could see that the buttresses jutting off the sides of the nave and the many other entrances were no less impressive. After circling slowly around the outside, Kurt stood on the front steps. He wondered if he would be allowed in. It was a church after all; then again he had never visited a church other than Father Dietrich's in daylight and it was midmorning now. Kurt paused at the entrance. He stood off to the side, but there was a steady trickle of people going in so finally, checking to see that his hood was still in place, Kurt stepped through the cathedral's giant doorway.

The inside was more spectacular than the outside. The morning sun lit up stained glass windows as light streamed through them. The interior space was huge and Kurt spent an hour exploring the walkway surrounding the nave looking at the statues and the windows. It was amazing how he always felt better inside a church. Ever since leaving the circus he'd been on edge, worried about being found out, trying to make sense of Wolfgang's mad outburst, mentally chastising himself over and over for his behavior on the pathway the night before he left. But standing in the cool dark interior of the Notre-Dame Cathedral Kurt felt all those worries slide off him as easily as he might have taken off his coat.

He slid into one of the pews and dug in his pocket for his rosary. The cathedral wasn't crowded but it certainly wasn't empty. There were a variety of visitors in the giant space. Kurt watched many of them pass before the tabernacle and the altar without genuflecting and realized that the majority of them were tourists, visiting the church for it's historical and artistic significance. He could also see that a select few were there to worship as well and in the milling throng he didn't look out of place even with his backpack and coat. He gratefully slid his arms out of his pack and folded down the kneeler on the pew in front of him.

Kurt spent a few minutes with his head down. He never liked to ask God for things specifically for himself, but in this case he was in a bit of a bind so he hoped God would understand. When he finished his intercessions, he started the rosary, but about halfway through it was interrupted by announcement that mass would be starting in ten minutes. Kurt looked around in surprise. It did make sense that they would perform mass inside of a church, but the idea of staying for it was still somewhat shocking to him. All around him however, people were taking their seats in the pews as if it was perfectly normal.

He'd never been to mass at a church besides Father Dietrich's and there, he'd always sat above in the choir loft just out of site from everyone. If he'd sat in the nave even with his hood up he would have been very conspicuous, but here in this giant dimly lit space, he was hardly noticeable. Kurt didn't move, instead he remained where he was, still kneeling, his place still marked on his rosary. When everyone was seated and it was clear that mass was going to start without anyone pointing at him and going into hysterics, Kurt had decided that he really liked Paris.

* * *

After the conclusion of the mass Kurt stepped back out into the bright sunlight and squinted. He wished it had been Sunday, but even daily mass in such a huge cathedral was impressive. He wondered how long he would be in Paris. Maybe he could come back on Sunday. Holding his hood up with one hand, he took a last look at the twin spires of the cathedral's giant façade. He didn't really want to leave.

A sound from his stomach made Kurt realize that while spending an hour wandering around the cathedral and getting to go to mass had been a nice diversion, he still hadn't eaten. Kurt looked around and saw that across the river the city was waking up. There was a crisp fall breeze but the sun was warm and he watched the outdoor cafés setting out tables and umbrellas. As he crossed the bridge he could actually smell the espresso.

Careful to keep his hood up Kurt walked past, wondering if there was a way he could get something to eat without paying for it. Patrons sitting at the tables eating buns and drinking coffee lazily tossed crumbs to crowds of pigeons on the sidewalk. Kurt wondered if it wouldn't be too obvious if he joined the birds clamoring for bits of brioche. Knowing that it would, he sighed and spotting a sign directing him to the "Jardin du Luxembourg" his hopes soared. It was hard to imagine in this big city of concrete and stone, but if it really was a garden, maybe he could at least take a few vegetables without anyone noticing.

At the entrance to the Jardin du Luxembourg Kurt realized he'd been mistaken. It was a beautiful expanse of green yes, but it was hardly a vegetable garden. He stood in the entrance with his shoulders slumped, the "garden" was not a garden at all, but a meticulously maintained park. This was getting ridiculous. He'd run away from the circus, on purpose this time, and now he was stuck. He had no food, no money, and no idea how to get to 22 Rue Le Verrier. Kurt had always felt very self sufficient in the circus but now he realized that out in the world alone, he was helpless.

"Excusez-moi."

Kurt felt himself shoved rudely aside from the back as a man suddenly pushed past him. He caught his balance and looked up. The man was on a unicycle, pedaling expertly down the path. He had a bag slung over his shoulder with a set of juggling clubs and other props sticking out. And his face was painted white. Kurt opened his eyes wide. Was there a circus in the park? He thought about the relationships between himself and the other performers when they had been at Brighton. Nobody had seemed to care about his appearance there. Perhaps he could exchange a day of work for some food.

"Wait! Wait!" Kurt called after the unicyclist. He took a few clumsy steps, trying to run after him but tripped over his shoes. He slowed down and watched as the unicyclist disappeared around a bend. It wasn't hopeless though, certainly if there was a circus in the park, he'd find it eventually.

Ten minutes later Kurt found the unicyclist again in a clearing. He wasn't alone, but their certainly wasn't a circus either. Kurt could remember Christian telling him stories about performing on his bike in Berlin, not as part of a circus, but by himself on the street for money. Like Christian, the unicyclist was a street performer. Kurt watched him as he circled a small area on his unicycle and juggled. Around him were assorted other performers, a few other jugglers, and a mime. Kurt perched himself on a low stone wall and watched as people strolled along becoming temporary audiences for each performer and as they left, dutifully dropped coins into various hats and tins. Kurt felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He wasn't going to be hungry for much longer. His prayers had been answered after all.

Kurt hopped off the wall and set his rucksack down. Then he threw off his coat, which was way too warm for the day. The best part was finally getting to kick off his horrible shoes, which he did with a flourish, catching one in each hand. Kurt looked around. He didn't have a hat or tin to put out. He glanced at the shoes in his hands and shrugged. He tossed one on top of his coat and put the other down in front of him. He was still feeling stiff and sore from sleeping on the train and under the bridge so he stretched expansively, realizing how glorious it was to uncurl his tail at last.

The unicyclist was staring at him now, his feet alternating back and forth on the pedals to keep balanced. He looked unimpressed with Kurt and his rumpled clothes that besides being a bit frayed and patched he was sure looked slept-in and dirty from traveling as well. He didn't really feel like performing. He was tired and still hungry, but that didn't matter. As Kurt ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to straighten it, he thought of Wolfgang's admonishment not to draw attention to himself. This certainly qualified. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. It didn't matter anymore.

"Mesdames et messieurs!" he shouted and bowed low, sweeping his hand dramatically from his head to the pavement as though tipping an imaginary hat.

Kurt stole a glance at the unicycling juggler who was now looking at him like he was insane. And Kurt had to admit he felt a little insane, but the juggler wasn't the one only looking in his direction. It was too late to stop now.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he took another deep breath and shouted, "Directement d'Allemagne! Ici à Paris pour un jour, et un jour seulement! Please welcome the Incredible Nightcrawler!"

It was like a spell being cast. With those words any thought of being tired or hungry or worried disappeared. It was show time. Kurt sprang, cat like, into a series of backward handsprings the last of which landed him in the lowest branches of a large tree. He had people's attention now and as he swung down they were starting to wander in his direction. He landed lightly on the paved walkway and gave the juggler a wink as he beckoned the small crowd that was forming in front of him to come closer.

Kurt thought about mass at Notre-Dame Cathedral that morning as he looked at the people who were now watching him with interest, waiting to see what he was going to do next. He couldn't help but smile. He really did like Paris.

**Translations:**

1) Where can I find 22 Le Verrier St, Mr. Duck.

2) Ladies and Gentlemen! Direct from Germany. Here in Paris for one day, and one day only!


	5. Divided Loyalties

_"There's only one place where Kurt would go, and that's where we're going, so I'm not worried."_

Laughing, Christian chased his friends through the crowded train station. He hardly noticed his backpack and had no problem steering his favorite bike along with him. He rested his hand casually on the seat as he ran, easily maneuvering it ahead him.

"Wait up you dorks!" he called out as he surged forward and accidentally jostled his backpack into a large mustached man wearing a suit and tie. The man threw him a very dirty look and made a few pointed comments in German about too many American tourists to his companion, loud enough for Christian to hear. Christian felt his cheeks grow hot. It was weird to be speaking so much English again, especially when it wasn't going to be translated. The man didn't realize that Christian could understand him, that he had been living in his country, been part of his culture for years. He slowed his pace, suddenly unsure of what he was doing.

"Chris!"

Christian turned. It was Drew.

"We don't want to be late," Drew said, waving to him and still pushing through the crowd. Christian nodded and weaved through the last few people separating them to join his friends.

"Together again Chris, this is so totally going to rock!" Kyle said emphatically as they boarded the train and stowed their backpacks in the compartment above.

Brett tapped Christian on the shoulder and pointed. "Bikes go up in front," he said. "We've been going everywhere on these trains. They totally kick ass. They have everything."

With his hand still on the seat, Christian pushed his bike up to the racks and locked it down. Brett was right, American trains didn't have anything like this. It was amazing that he'd been living in Europe this long and had no idea. He wondered what else he was missing by traveling with a circus? When he returned back to his friends they had already made themselves at home in two pairs of facing seats.

"So what's with you and the 'wolfman'?" Drew asked when Christian got back and flopped into the empty seat.

"Wolfgang? What do you mean me and Wolfgang?" He asked, bristling at the question.

Drew gave a snort of laughter. "You actually know someone named Wolfgang?" He said, "I meant the blue guy. You know…" Drew bared his teeth and made his hands like claws as he pantomimed leaping out of the dark.

Christian relaxed. "Oh." He laughed. "You mean Kurt. I just live in his family's trailer. They had a spare bunk and I'm kind of a stray. Most of the performers are big families." He stared out the window and watched the station pull away from them.

"You live with a mutant?" Kyle asked. "What's that like?"

Christian knitted his brow. "What do you mean what's it like? It's like living with anybody," he said. He frowned. That wasn't true. Living with Kurt and his family was hardly average and Kurt was far from "anybody", but the point was that if someone would have asked him to describe what living with Kurt was like, the first things to come to mind would not have been his appearance or even his unusual abilities.

He would have told them how deeply religious Kurt was and that as weird as it was, he'd gotten used to the fact that Kurt knelt next to his bunk at night to say his prayers and had even come to expect it so that if it didn't happen, he couldn't fall asleep. He would have also told them that the battered prayer book with the colored ribbons sticking out of it that Kurt read from was more of a curiosity to Christian than the hands that held it. He would have explained that in the morning Kurt set out all the breakfast things because even though he was the last to go to bed at night, he was also the first to rise and moved about the crowded trailer in the morning's dim light like it was no big deal. Then he would have finished by saying that as odd as the Szardos family may have seemed to outsiders, they spent more time reading, talking, and doing family things together than any family Christian had ever seen and that he was forever grateful for the fact that he was always included in these activities as if he were one of them. The fact that Kurt turned the pages of his books with his tail so he could lay on his stomach and keep his chin propped in both his hands while he was reading or that he could dance with his mother and his sister at the same time were certainly novel, but seemed wholly irrelevant when looking at him as a person.

Christian stared out the window; only half listening to his friends' speculations about what living with Kurt must have been like, paying just enough attention to know that they had it wrong. "Mutant." "Nigger." "Fag." So many labels and they were always negative. He didn't think he'd ever understand why people, even good people sometimes, felt so compelled to label everybody who was different from them and why they always got it so wrong every single time.

* * *

Wolfgang watched the roustabouts releasing the canvas of their main tent from the two king poles in the center and frowned as it dropped to the ground, the sides fluttering as the air was released from underneath. The circus was packing up for the long haul this time. They weren't just stuffing props into the trucks in order to make a run to the next stop on the tour, this time they were packing things right, getting ready for the long ride to their winter quarters in southern Spain. But first there would be a well earned break for all of them. They had put their lives on hold long enough. There were things that needed taking care of, personal obligations that could no longer wait. After taking a last survey of the organized chaos, Wolfgang turned away and walked back towards the cluster of trailer and caravans.

The living quarters were alive with activity as well as each family prepared their home for travel. It made him feel strangely empty as he watched it, as though he had built an empire and was now watching it crumble. He knew it wasn't true, that he would see everyone again in a few weeks, but he couldn't shake the feeling anyway.

Wolfgang stopped at the Szardos trailer and leaned into the open door. Amanda was on her knees packing clothes into on of the trailer's many storage compartments. She had her hair pulled back in a scarf and looked tired. She smiled when she saw him.

"Hey," she said, giving the pile of clothes a last shove and latching the door before they could fall out again.

"Hey," Wolfgang said, "Have you seen Kurt? I haven't seen him since the other night."

Amanda shook her head. "Christian's gone too," she said.

"Christian?" Wolfgang said, surprised. "Where did Christian go?"

"He left an note. He wanted to spend some time with his friends. He took a bunch of his stuff with him," Amanda said.

"Is he coming back?" Wolfgang asked.

"The note didn't say. Maybe he's going to meet us?" Amanda said. She turned her attention from the clothes to the many latches that kept the trailer's cabinets and drawers shut while it was in motion.

"Do you think Kurt went with him?"

"He might have, but I don't think so," Amanda said, "I think Christian would have said something."

Wolfgang came in and sat down on the trailer's folding couch. It seemed like a lifetime ago he and Amanda had driven along with Kurt, Maria, James, and Brin in this van up to Hamburg for Christmas. How different everything had been then.

"I got kind of … angry at Kurt the other night," he admitted. "I think I might have been a little too harsh with him. Do you think he might have run away because of me?"

Amanda pursed her lips as she thought. "I don't know," she said.

"Aren't you and Margali worried?" he asked.

Amanda shook her head. "No."

Wolfgang was surprised. He'd been wandering around all day trying to convince himself that Kurt was somewhere on the grounds, that Kurt was just avoiding him and that was why he hadn't seen him. But the idea of Kurt out in the world, somewhere, by himself only made the strange gnawing empty feeling in his stomach worse. "You aren't worried at all?" he asked again.

"Not really," Amanda said, her voice casual as though she were discussing the weather or the latest gossip rather than her brother's disappearance.

"Why not?"

"Because, there's only one place where Kurt would go," she said.

For a moment Wolfgang didn't know what Amanda meant. Where would Kurt go? He couldn't imagine Kurt going anywhere without the circus, but then it dawned on him, there was one place in Europe that Kurt traveled to. "Father Dietrich's," he said.

Amanda nodded. "And that's where we're going, so I'm not worried."

Wolfgang stood up, feeling a little bit lighter. "I'll call the Father, tell him to expect Kurt a little early. Thanks Amanda."

She shrugged. "It's no big deal. Kurt's pretty predictable that way and besides, I know he wouldn't want to miss the wedding."

"Yeah, true," mumbled Wolfgang as he backed out the door. "Good thinking. Thanks." He turned away quickly. Why hadn't he thought of that, he wondered. Wasn't he Kurt's friend too? And yet it seemed like they hardly knew each other anymore. How long had it been since they had driven together in the truck or fenced or even just sat under the trees and talked? How long had it been that he'd done anything more than manage the circus' business?

What had happened to him that had made him become just like his father?

* * *

"I love Paris in the springtime.

I love Paris in the fall.

I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,

I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.

I love Paris every moment,

every moment of the year.

I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?

Because my love is near."

Kurt finished the song with his arms outstretched and his head tipped back to the sky. He supposed that James was right when he said that he didn't have much of a singing voice except that it was such a nice day and since no one was going to hear him up here anyway, he figured it didn't matter. In fact it was so nice to be out in the sun surrounded by such a grand city that it was hard to remember the rather dire errand that had brought him here. But as enjoyable as it was to stand up here and sing cabaret songs, Kurt figured he might as well get down to business. He sat back down, unfolded the tourist map he'd purchased at a shop along the boulevard, unwrapped his second sandwich and began to eat while he searched for Rue le Verrier.

He had only intended to perform for as long as it would take to make enough money to feed himself, but he had been having so much fun that three hours had gone by before it occurred to him to stop and see how much he had made. He'd made more than enough it turned out and so he'd bid farewell to his audience, gathered up his things, and sought out lunch at last.

He hadn't needed to hide under his hooded coat in the Jardin du Luxembourg, even when he was no longer in front of an audience. To the few people who gave him curious glances he had simply said, "I'm performing" and they seemed to understand right away. It was the first time he'd walked around in the open since Brighton and while he'd felt very vulnerable and exposed at first, by the time he found a vendor selling sandwiches from a cart, he hardly noticed it.

He'd reluctantly donned his coat again to return to Notre-Dame Cathedral. He could have eaten in the park, but he wanted to put some of his excess Francs in the collection box and he needed to buy a map. Now Kurt sat with his map on the Cathedral's roof, at home among its many carved stone gargoyles as he ate. Wiping the crumbs off his hands, he crouched beside one of the gargoyles over looking the city and tilted the map so that it matched the layout of the streets below. It wouldn't be hard to find his way to 22 Rue le Verrier now.

Something caught Kurt's eye and he craned his neck and finally crossed over to the other side of the gabled roof to get a better look at it. It was a gigantic glass pyramid that appeared to be sunken into a large stone plaza with the late afternoon sun glinting off of it. The Louvre, Paris' famous art museum, and it was right there in front of him.

Kurt consulted his map for a moment and thought. He'd never been in an art museum. He thought of the pang of jealousy he'd felt when Lars told him that Wolfgang had taken them to the Tate Gallery in London. How he would have loved to have been there with everyone. The only paintings he'd ever seen aside from Wolfgang's were in books. Maybe this was his chance. It didn't look far to walk and he certainly had enough money. But there would be people there. And it wouldn't be dark and quiet like the church. An art gallery, Kurt was sure, would be brightly lit and open, it would be impossible for him to hide in the shadows. Then again people would be looking at the art on the walls not at him.

He looked down at his map, spotting Rue le Verrier at last and then returned his gaze to gleaming glass pyramid that seemed to beckon him even as he told himself he shouldn't. Did he dare?

* * *

Note: Lyrics to "I Love Paris" by Nat King Cole 


	6. Triumph of the Genius of Destruction

Thanks for the comments everyone and I apologise for not posting in so long. With Vet School in session now, writing about Nightcrawler gets pushed kind of low on the priority list. I won't be updating as fast, but I've got 3 chapters done and if I space them out enough - I should be finished with a 4th so I can keep a sort of slow continuity going. I really enjoy writing this and your comments just make it even better

**Triumph of the Genius of Destruction**

_"I'm not afraid of you."_

It was easy for Kurt to find the entrance to the Louvre. All he needed to do was follow steady stream of people pouring into base of the great glass pyramid that he'd seen from the roof of the cathedral. He'd been right when he'd suspected it would be large, crowded and well lit, but he'd had no idea exactly how large, how crowded, and how well lit it would be until he was standing there. The sun was high in the sky now and it lit the foyer below the glass structure as though it were a spot light, white hot and without a single shadow.

Kurt hung back when he reached a pair of sliding glass doors that opened to admit people onto a spiraling staircase that led to the entrance underground. There were people everywhere. If he went in and walked down the steps with everyone else, there would be no place for him to hide, no way for him to get out. He would be trapped inside with nowhere to run. Kurt started to back away. It had been a stupid idea. He had come to Paris to find information, not to go site seeing at the Louvre. He wasn't even supposed to go into buildings like this; he didn't belong here.

Kurt turned and started to walk away. Then he stopped, a new and even more bothersome idea forming in his mind. Why didn't he belong here? There certainly weren't any rules against him entering public buildings, except for maybe the ones imposed upon him by Margali and more recently, Wolfgang. In fact, he could never remember a time when anyone was anything but reluctant to let him go anywhere outside the protective realm of the circus. He remembered when he was very young, how on a hot day he'd begged and begged Margali not to make him wear mittens on the train, that he would be a good boy and keep his hands in his pockets, and it made him wonder if he wasn't a willing participant in his own segregation. And the way he had thought about the interior as a "trap", it sounded less like an art museum and more like a prison or a war zone.

Kurt frowned. That wasn't what he wanted to be like. He was a trapeze artist for heaven's sake. He was supposed to be fearless, a daredevil, not a caged animal, frightened to leave his protective nest. He whirled around and faced the museum's entrance a second time. His original purpose had been to see art, but now that goal was lost; trumped by the much harder task of simply walking into the building. Kurt tugged his hood further forward and set his jaw as he walked back towards the entrance, once again joining the clusters of tourists entering and walking down the steps.

He stopped just outside the doorway again, but he refused to allow himself to turn away this time. Through the glass he could see that the steps led down into a brightly lit foyer with tables and benches and a small café. Along one edge people were queuing up to enter the museum. He watched several more groups enter and walk down the steps. He shut his eyes. How was it that he had walked across what he was nearly positive was Hell, barefoot, and yet he was afraid to enter an art museum? The thought made him laugh. Kurt opened his eyes and looked down at his feet; at least here he had shoes on. Kurt smiled at his own joke and when the next group of people walked through the sliding glass doors he stepped in behind them.

Kurt wasn't sure if it was the interior of the museum or maybe just his coat, but it was too warm and seemed to have much less oxygen than it did outside. As he descended the spiral staircase he took one last glance back up towards the door and the plaza above, but he didn't turn around.

* * *

It was like being fifteen years old again. Well, it was like the good parts of being fifteen anyway. After dumping their gear off at Drew, Kyle, and Brett's "Europe Extreme" tour paid for hotel room, they'd changed, grabbed three more bikes, and took off to tour Berlin California style.

As the three of them raced through the city jumping over curbs, park benches and each other, setting off car alarms, and generally making a ruckus, Christian realized how lonely he was as the circus' sole cyclist. Confined to a tiny circle beneath the big top he'd forgotten how great it was to go out with a bunch of buds and just ride.

Not only was he digging the riding, Berlin was the city where he'd "found his talent" so to speak. He'd come to Germany as a failure with a couple of bikes and a useless college degree that was probably going to get him work as a translator at best and a career in food service at worst. He expected to go nowhere fast, but instead his life had opened up. And thanks to his command of the German language, his quick wit, and the fact that the average German citizen wouldn't know a "bunny hop" from an "abubacas" even if it jumped up and bit him he'd found his calling. Within a few months he was making a decent living as a street performer with write-ups as a "Berlin must-see" in several tourist publications.

Just being in Berlin again was exhilarating. There were so many old haunts that Christian wanted to visit, so many people he wanted to drop in on. Plus he wondered if anyone had taken over his spot in the plaza where he always liked to perform. It had been so easy to leave. He had always wondered how hard it would be to come back. It turned out it wasn't hard at all. He was here and it was awesome.

* * *

Kurt waited his place in line, his hand wrapped around the crumpled remains of his earnings from performing in the park, a few paper bills and several coins. He hadn't checked the cost. He hoped it was enough. Now that he was in the building it wasn't so bad. It was true that there were a lot of people there, but nobody was bothering him; it seemed that Wolfgang had been right so many years ago in the airport, they were all too involved with their own business to be concerned with him. No one gave him a second glance.

He watched the people in front of him passing money to the ticket clerk in return for slips of paper and then passing them to a second clerk to walk through a gated entrance. It seemed easy enough, similar to the train even and Kurt had seen that dozens of times. With his hand still in his pocket he practiced keeping his sleeve over his fingers as he would need to do when he passed the money to the clerk. When it was his turn he shuffled forward with his head down and pushed his money forward.

"I'd like to come inside to the museum please," he said.

"One adult?"

"Um, yes," Kurt said, realizing that that must have been what he should have said.

"Special Exhibit?"

Kurt froze. "Um, Je suis…" he stammered, not sure what the ticket clerk was asking. Did he want to know if he, Kurt was a special exhibit or was he asking something else?

"Do you want to see the special exhibit of paintings from Hungary as well? It costs an extra two francs," The clerk asked with a weariness that told Kurt this had happened before.

"Oh," Kurt said trying not to laugh at his own stupidity. He put his hand, still wrapped up in his sleeve, over his mouth to cover his smile. Margali's family was from Hungary; the special exhibit sounded interesting. "Yes," he said, "yes, I'd love to."

The ticket clerk gave Kurt a funny look as he handed over Kurt's tickets and his change. Kurt scooped them up into his sleeve and still smiling, started towards the entrance to hand his tickets over. He couldn't believe how easy this had been. He was going to tell Margali and Wolfgang that the next time the circus was in a big city like Berlin, Prague, or even Paris again, he wasn't going to stay behind so easily.

"Excuse me! Hey, you there! Stop! You can't go in like that." A gruff voice called out. A large hand clapped down on Kurt's shoulder as he felt his insides turned to ice. The smile faded from his face. It had been too easy. He should have known; he should have expected that it wouldn't stay that way.

Kurt didn't know what to do. Would it be better to teleport or simply try to run? He didn't like the idea of teleporting in a public place like this, especially when he wasn't sure where he was going, but when he looked around at the security guards stationed at various points in the room, running didn't look like an option either. He was trapped.

His earlier trepidation at the entrance had not been unfounded after all. Cursing his recklessness, Kurt took his sleeve wrapped hands out of his pockets, and holding them up like he'd seen bank robbers do in Wolfgang's old movies, he said, "Please don't hurt me, I just wanted to go look at the museum." Kurt slowly lowered himself down to his knees adding gravely, "I surrender."

"Huh? You surrender?" The security guard looked confused. "You have to check your backpack," he said.

"My… My backpack?" Kurt asked almost in disbelief. He looked up. Something was wrong with his backpack. Was that all? He felt his face flush with embarrassment. How stupid he must have looked. He stood up quickly.

"No backpacks in the museum. You have to check it there." The guard pointed to a counter across from the ticket clerk's that said "Coat and Bag Check" over it in several languages.

"Check it?" Kurt asked. He was trying not to sound too quaint and clueless, but he had no idea what the guard was talking about. He furrowed his brow staring at the racks of bags and coats behind the counter, a woman in a Louvre security uniform standing watch over them. "Will I be able to get it back?"

"Of course," the guard said, giving Kurt a suspicious glance, "you'll get a tag for it. It works just like any other coat check."

Kurt could feel his ears getting hot now. This was getting embarrassing. He gave his hood a furtive tug to make sure it was covering as much of him as possible. The security guard gave him another suspicious glance and tried to peer around it. Kurt turned away from him.

"Thanks," he said, "I'm, um, not local." Kurt pulled his arms out of the straps of his pack and dropped it on the counter where it was exchanged for a plastic tag with numbers on it. He added it to the tickets in his coat pocket wondering how many other civic rituals he didn't know about. He suddenly felt like a storybook hero transported to a strange land with all sorts of unusual customs and etiquette except that this was Paris, and not some far away place.

"I figured," the security guard said, smiling for the first time. He walked with Kurt all the way through the ticket check and into the first gallery of the museum. Kurt tried to ignore him, but finally risked a glance behind him.

"You're all right then?" The guard asked as if to reassure Kurt as much as himself. It was odd that even here complete strangers were still asking him if he was all right. Kurt wondered if they would ever stop.

"I'm fine," he said, an automatic response, spoken a little too quickly. Kurt paused, considering. Finally he added in more even tones, "If ever you're not busy when Circus Gehlhaar comes to play, visit us. Ask for Kurt Wagner,"

The security guard looked thoughtful a moment, pointing a finger at Kurt as though trying to remember something.

"Circus Gehlhaar," he said at last, scratching his chin, "I remember them I think. Came and performed last year right? I took my daughter to see them. She was absolutely wild about "The Incredible Nightcrawler". You know him?"

Kurt smiled and for a moment turned to that the guard could catch a glimpse of what Kurt looked like beneath his hood. "Yes," he said, "very well. Tell you daughter he says hello."

He answered the security guard's look of surprise by putting his finger to his lips and winking conspiratorially. Then Kurt turned, and quickening his pace followed a small knot of people toward the gallery, eager to begin his first ever exploration of an art museum.

* * *

The members of Circus Gehlhaar live a life subdivided into routines. They had routines for arriving at a venue and routines for leaving. And within the leaving and arriving routines were subroutines to handle the individual tasks of setting up and taking down one's living quarters as well as the larger higher profile tasks of putting up and taking down the tent and performance equipment. Most of the time they did this work without even thinking about it; it was all part of life for them and it meant that the real living happened in between the routines except in those rare cases where the routine itself was special.

This was one such case.

Over the years since they had come the know Father Dietrich, the empty lot below his church had come to feel like home. The shows they played there were always better and hours between them were always a little less hectic. Even during their non-stop eighteen month Les Chansons tour before, they hadn't minded stopping in Hamburg and now, with the tour over, returning to Hamburg seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.

As Wolfgang walked through the trailers and caravans there was a palpable difference between the way they were setting up now, and they way they did when the circus had just arrived in the middle of the night where they only had a few hours to make the place livable and catch some sleep before showtime. Everybody was relaxed and in a good mood. Everybody, it seemed, except for him.

He stopped outside his own trailer in time to see Maria's backside emerge from the door as she swept out the floor. It was always so strange to him to see her doing housework. She always looked to him like she belonged on the runways of Paris with her long tanned legs and silky black hair that fell nearly to her waist. He put her arms around her so she couldn't return to her work. He could smell the perfume she liked to wear combined with the subtle and even pleasant musk that told him she hadn't bathed yet that day.

"What are you doing?" Maria asked.

Wolfgang was silent for a moment, staring off into the distance with his chin on Maria's shoulder. "Kurt's not here." He said after a long pause. "Father Dietrich said he never showed up. We don't know where he is."

Maria furrowed her brow as though trying to take this in and turn it into good news. Finally she said, "yet. We don't know where he is _yet_."

Wolfgang looked out towards the roadway. "I don't like not knowing where he is." He said.

Maria started to squirm out of his embrace in an attempt to return to her housework. "You don't like not knowing anything," she said. "What did Father Dietrich say?"

"He said God looks after Kurt."

Maria picked up her broom and matched her gaze to Wolfgang's, looking out at the empty road leading toward the church. "Then we'll just have to trust Him," she said. She opened the door to the trailer.

"Trust who?" Wolfgang asked, "God or Kurt?"

"Exactly." Maria smiled enigmatically as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

Kurt sat down on a low wooden bench in a small side gallery where he could still see the artwork, but was out of the way of the milling throngs of people passing through. He was tired and his feet hurt, but he felt relaxed. The low hum of so many people speaking French at once reminded Kurt of his childhood when the circus had consisted of almost equal divisions of French and German performers. All his memories from that time seemed softer, strangely gilded by the idea that it was only a matter of time before all the other blue people with tails showed up, that he was completely normal, only a matter of time.

Kurt sighed and looked around, wondering where to go next. Out of habit, he nearly pulled his feet in under him to perch on the bench's edge, but quickly thought better of it. Besides the fact that he couldn't really "perch" comfortably with shoes on, he had wandered in and out of the Louvre's maze of galleries for nearly two hours without incident. He didn't want to draw attention to himself now.

Actually, it was the shoes that were bothering him the most, the shoes and the hard floors. Kurt had never spent an entire day in shoes like this, walking on hard flat floors instead of running and climbing barefoot from the ground to the variety of surfaces and footholds the circus offered and he was beginning to see what everyone complained about. He stared down at the simple black shoes that now seemed like a pair of jail cells for his feet.

"They're Pradas," Wolfgang had said to Kurt after he had outgrown his last pair, "You'll like them."

Kurt had had no idea what that meant, but Pradas or not, he couldn't wait to get home and take them off. It was with a slight pang that Kurt realized that he had no home to go to here in Paris. His Circus Gehlhaar trailer was a long way away and if he found himself unwelcome at 22 Rue la Verrier, he would be spending the night on the street and then performing in the park the next day to earn enough money to eat before beginning the long journey back to the circus.

Kurt stood up. As nice as this little sightseeing trip was, perhaps he had spent enough time here and it was finally time to reach his destination. As he started towards what looked like an exit, he put his hand in his pocket and felt a second slip of paper. He pulled it out and looked at it, wondering what it was for. The Special Exhibit of Hungarian Art; he'd totally forgotten. He had paid for it. He couldn't leave without at least seeing it. Kurt looked around, wondering where to go until he spotted a wall map with directional arrows. Following them dutifully he made his way towards the special exhibits gallery.

It wasn't far to walk and as Kurt wandered through the gallery, which had been hung with works from the National Gallery in Budapest, he tried to find some link back to Margali within them. There were a lot of portraits and it seemed to Kurt that the Hungarians were very fond of painting each other. He liked the landscapes best not only because they reminded him of his own travels around Europe, but also there was the additional fascination of the names of the places; names like "Felsöbánya" and "Zebegény". But as much as Kurt tried, he really couldn't see any connection to his foster mother in any of the paintings.

It made sense of course. Margali had grown up Romani and as a young girl, she, her mother, and her sister had been cast out to wander Europe alone. She was no more Hungarian than she was French or German.

As he meandered through the various displays of painting and sculpture, Kurt wondered about his own family. Were they the same as Margali, "Citizens of Europe" rather than claiming a particular country of origin? Amanda and Stephani had different fathers, and of course Kurt was not related by blood to any of them. And though their fathers were gone from her life before either of their children were born, Margali's only concession to their identities was to give the children names from their countries of origin. Thus Amanda had an Irish name to go with the red hair she had inherited from her father. Kurt could remember how when they were children people occasionally made awkward attempts to fit him into the family by saying that he and Stephani must be brothers. And while it was true that they had both inherited their dark curls from their fathers, Stephani had inherited his from his swarthy Italian father. Thus he had Margali's father's name "Stephan" with an "i" added at the end to make it sound as Italian as his father was.

Of course, Kurt thought with a smile, the joke had been on all of them because as it turned out "Amanda" wasn't a particularly Irish name at all, and while there were plenty of boys named "Stephano" in Italy; "Stephani" was really a girl's name. Not that it mattered anymore. Walking through the Louvre, Kurt suddenly appreciated the "patchwork" feel of his foster family more than ever. None of them quite belonged anywhere and it made it that much easier for him to fit in.

Kurt drifted aimlessly through the gallery not really stopping to scrutinize each painting, but rather taking the works in as a whole. He didn't really like Hungarian art, he'd decided, or at least he wasn't any more or less impressed with it than any of the other art he'd seen that day. He wished Wolfgang or Maria was with him. They actually knew about art. He was sure that if they were with him explaining things, it wouldn't seem like such an overload or at least he could have understood why one painting was significant when compared to the others around it.

He stopped to look at a small black and white charcoal sketch that stood out only because of its simplicity in a room full of colorful canvases. It was a delicate sketch of a nude man on russet colored paper. He stepped up for a closer look and saw that the artist had used the two colors of chalk to show the dark shadows and highlights on the man's body, letting the paper provide the mid-tones. Kurt had seen Wolfgang turn out a dozen sketches like this in an hour, but there was something familiar about this one. Then he noticed that the artist had taken his white chalk and with just a few scribbles had outlined a pair of wings. It was not a man at all, but a drawing of an angel.

Kurt looked at the plaque mounted beside the sketch and felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. He couldn't take his eyes of the name of the sketch that was so unexpected here, in this place that until moments ago, seemed to have nothing to do with him or his family.

The artist had titled the sketch, "Demon".

"Everybody knows demons and angels are one in the same," Kurt whispered under his breath, finally knowing why it was that he recognized the nude's curly dark hair and aquiline nose. Had Azazel once had… wings?

Now Kurt suddenly had a purpose. Was this a sketch from life? Had this artist actually _seen_ Azazel? He looked around the gallery. Perhaps there were other paintings by the same artist. Maybe they would give him more clues as to how, and why, in this Special Exhibition of Hungarian Art at the Louvre, there was a drawing of Azazel.

The exhibit was quite large and as Kurt quickly traversed the paintings he began to wonder if he wasn't being silly. Perhaps the angel's appearance was just a coincidence or maybe in the Hungarian language the word for "angel" was the same word as it was for "demon". It could have had nothing to do with Azazel or Martuska Szardos or…

Kurt stopped, his mouth open in surprise.

Or it could have everything to do with it, he thought.

He hadn't seen the painting since he was eight years old and even though it had only been a color plate in a book about art that Lars had stolen from the circus' cook, it had frightened him. Now, seeing the same painting, only this time 14 feet wide and 18 feet high, it frightened him more.

Kurt took a few surprised steps back and turned away. Maybe Martuska had lied to him. Perhaps all this had been for nothing and now Azazel, instead of just showing up at inconvenient times, was going to haunt him for the rest of his life with little tricks like this one. Kurt frowned, but when he looked around he noticed he wasn't the only one looking at the painting. It was so large that half a dozen people could view it at once with a comfortable distance between them. They could see it too, which meant he wasn't imagining it. And, Kurt remembered, these were 19th Century Hungarian artworks which meant that this painting was made a century before.

Turning back around he stared at it. The details of the painting had been burned into his mind long ago, but it was different seeing it so large. The figures of the priest, angel, and demon were larger than life sized locked in their permanent struggle of vanquishing and being vanquished. But there were other details that Kurt hadn't been able to see before in the tiny color plate and these made the painting even stranger to him. There was a robed man atop a mountain of skulls holding aloft a key while another man kissed his feet, a nearby crucifix lay carelessly tossed aside. A woman mysteriously hovered between the demon and the angel as though mediating their dispute. All around them a battle raged with a variety of weapons each more deadly than the next. The priest, Kurt realized was not even looking in the direction of the conflict, but appeared to be running away.

Kurt didn't know how many times people came, viewed the painting, and left, while he stood there, but a thought was forming in his mind as he looked at it. Kurt had never considered himself much of an art aficionado, but now he wanted to grab the people next to him and explain the different parts of the painting to them as he made each discovery. The longer he stared at it, the more he understood.

The battle being fought was not a war at all, but rather a series of individuals fighting and discovering which one had the weapon of advantage, culminating in a swordsman throwing aside his cutlass as a bullet pierced his chest. There was not just one man with a key atop a mound, but many. These were kings who had been given power and were now proudly holding it up for their subjects to see. In the meantime a woman, naked on the ground offered up her child to a man who did not want it. The painting showed a world in chaos that Kurt as a child had always thought was supposed to be hell, but now he realized it was this world. The painting showed the state of the world after it had been granted the gifts of technology and warfare. And presiding over this world, watching what it did with those gifts that he had given it, was Azazel.

_The Triumph of the Genius of Destruction_. Kurt hadn't known the name of the painting when he was a child because the book had been written in English, but now, written along side the giant canvas in French, German, English, and what he assumed was Hungarian, it made perfect sense.

Azazel was the angel.

Kurt thought about Azazel's words to him standing in the church yard not even a year ago.

"I brought war and weapons to this Earth." Azazel had said. "I brought science and technology. All the things that the humans use to corrupt and pollute this planet of theirs was mine once."

And so here it was for all to see, Azazel's gifts to mankind and what mankind had done with them. Kurt averted his gaze as he slowly unwound his rosary from his pocket. He stood there for a few moments, running the familiar beads through his fingers as and staring at the crucifix as he thought. Kurt looked up, understanding now that the expression on the angel's face was the all too familiar arrogance and not the determination to vanquish evil he'd thought it was as a child. He stared unblinking into the painted Azazel's eyes and it seemed as though he was speaking to the being itself.

Azazel may have triumphed once, but it would never happen again.

"I'm not afraid of you," Kurt said. "I am not afraid."

* * *

Author's note: The two pieces of art described in this story are real. I really saw The Triumph of the Genius of Destruction on tour at the Louvre when I was 21 years old. It really is that large and it was almost like you could walk into it or something. I think I stood there for like half an hour just like, "whoa".

When I started writing Even Angels have Scars, I knew exactly which scary angel/demon painting Kurt was to find in Lars' book, but I didn't let on about it until now because I wanted to tell this story first.

Both of these works are by the Hungarian artist Mihály Zichy. They are currently on display at the Hungarian National Gallery in Budapest.


	7. The City of Lights

Hello -

I wanted to thank everyone for their patience and to tell you some good and bad news. Vet school got very busy this semester and I had no time at all to write so I saved this chapter to put up during finals week. The good news is it looks like I will have a lot more time next semester. The bad news is because I had an accident in which I lost most of the use of my right hand so I'll be taking a semester off school. I may have more time to write, but I can't type as fast.

Anyway, we'll see what happens. I really want to continue this, especially now that the Nightcrawler solo comic is done. Thanks for reading and as always, thanks for your reviews. I always get a real boost when I see one.

Thanks

-e

* * *

**The City of Lights becomes the City of Brotherly Love**

_"I let myself in. I hope that was okay."_

It was evening by the time Kurt found Rue le Verrier and made his way to the narrow three flat with the number twenty two over the door. He sat in silence for a long time. He'd finally done it. And then with a sigh and a small smile he pressed the buzzer for flat number 3.

There was no answer and when Kurt looked up at the window to the third floor apartment, he could see it was dark inside. Even so, it wouldn't be hard to get up there and have a look inside. Kurt glanced up and down the street to make sure he was alone. He could have easily climbed the exterior of the building, but that would have taken too long. It took just a fraction of a second to teleport himself to a spot just above the height of the third story window. He hung in the air a moment and then caught the decorative stonework around the window on the way down.

Holding on tightly, and bracing his still shod feet against the window ledge, Kurt leaned in and pressed his face against the window, trying to see inside. He was looking for anything familiar that would let me know if he had come to the right place or not. Unfortunately, it was difficult to see anything in the dim interior other than the outlines of the furniture. He would have to go inside. Turning back to the street once again to insure that he was still alone, Kurt took a deep breath and teleported inside.

It was a simple one bedroom flat with a cozy sitting room and a tiny separate kitchen. Kurt was standing in the middle of the sitting room floor and he gratefully stepped out of his shoes and dropped his rucksack by the door so it would be out of the way. Not daring to turn on a light, he surveyed his surroundings in the dark, taking soft deliberate steps as he moved.

It looked like a comfortable enough place. There were shelves with a lot of books and a desk in the corner with a lot of papers and what looked like a computer on it. The kitchen was small and looking inside it made Kurt realize he was hungry again. It was tempting to take a piece of bread, or a slice of cheese from the brick he saw sitting in the refrigerator, but he wasn't exactly sure if he was in the right place yet. There was nothing familiar about the slightly sagging but comfortable looking couch in the sitting room or the neatly made double bed in the bedroom. The apartment could have belonged to anybody.

The glint of a glass picture frame on the bed's nightstand caught Kurt's eye and he went in for a closer look. He picked up the first of two framed photos; it was a posed family portrait taken outside in the branches of the tree. Margali sat leaning against the tree's broad trunk with her children gathered around her. It had been taken during one of Stephani's first visits home to the circus from school, almost eight years ago. Staring at the image of his own unblemished face in the picture in unconsciously brought his hand up, tracing the now healed lines that decorated his skin. Kurt put the picture down and picked up the second.

This one was a newer photograph of himself, Stephani, and Amanda sitting on the steps of Father Dietrich's Rectory in the snow. He smiled, remembering that Brin had taken the picture shortly after James had proposed to her. It also reminded him that he only had a certain amount of time. He needed to get back to Hamburg in time for Brin and James' wedding. Kurt set the second picture back on the nightstand and returned to the sitting room. At least now he knew he was in the right place. He sat down on the couch and slid his rosary out of his pocket to wait.

* * *

"Did you really grow up in a circus?"

"Would I lie to you? I swear that I did."

"What kind of circus was it?"

Stephani shrugged. He usually saved the subject of his childhood for around the fifth or sixth date, but he really liked Sophia. He'd already had several classes with her at the Sorbonne. She seemed like someone who would understand, someone who wouldn't make fun or think he was lying. So even though this was only their second date, he'd told her, not everything, but a little bit.

"Just a traveling circus like you see in the summer," he said, turning and walking backwards so he could face her while they talked.

"Did you perform?" Sophia asked, her head turning this way and that to take in the sights of his neighborhood as she walked him home from dinner.

She seemed serious now, Stephani noticed, which was good. He shook his head.

"No, I had a brother who was an acrobat though," he said.

"Really? Was he older than you?" Sophia asked as they climbed the steps to his front door.

Stephani fitted his key into the lock. "Younger actually. Do you want to come up or are you…" he let his voice trail off when Sophia stepped through the door with a coy smile. Stephani followed her through and let the door close and lock behind him.

"So why didn't they let you be an acrobat too?" she asked as she climbed the stairs.

"I could have, I guess, but he had… sort of special skills. Up one more," Stephani said when Sophia stopped at the landing for the second floor and looked at him questioningly.

"That doesn't seem fair," her voice drifted down through the stairwell.

"No, it was fair. He got to be the star acrobat; I got to go to school. We both got to do what we wanted."

He climbed the rest of the steps to where Sophia was waiting. She stepped aside to let him put his key in the door. He smiled and opened the door. "After you," he said.

"It's so dark," Sophia said as she stepped into the tiny entranceway. She made a motion as though reaching for the wall but her hand brushed against Stephani's lips instead.

"I know just the perfect light," he said stepping into his sitting room suddenly. "Not too bright, but just enough to, Whoops!"

* * *

It all happened so fast that Kurt had no idea what to do. He had fallen asleep sitting up on the couch, but the thump of someone tripping over his backpack, the lights coming up, and a woman's surprised shriek woke him. Kurt leapt to his feet, the rosary sliding out of his hand. If this was Stephani's apartment then why was he hearing a woman's voice? He hadn't made a mistake had he?

"Who left those things there?" A voice Kurt recognized asked in French. It was Stephani, his back to him, sitting on the floor where he'd fallen and pointing at Kurt's shoes and rucksack.

The woman, still standing in the doorway pointed at Kurt, but instead of shrieking spoke in a barrage of rapid fire French that was so fast and angry that Kurt couldn't make out a word of it.

"The devil?" Stephani asked in confusion. He twisted around to where Sophia was pointing and Kurt was standing and grinned. "Kurt!"

"Hi," Kurt said sheepishly. "I let myself in. I hope that was okay."

* * *

Twenty minutes later Sophia was gone and the two of them were sitting at Stephani's tiny kitchen table. It was hard for Kurt not to simply grab the loaf of French bread, begin ripping pieces off it, and stuff them into his mouth, he was so hungry. Instead he carefully cut off another slice and gratefully accepted another hunk of cheese from Stephani.

"Thanks," he said, "I'm sorry I scared your friend. Was she…" Kurt trailed off, not sure how to ask. Did Stephani have a girlfriend here in Paris or maybe they were more than that? Suddenly his brother's life seemed completely closed and foreign to him, as though Stephani lived on another planet instead of just an occasionally far away city. What made him think Stephani would even care about his problems in the circus?

Stephani gave him a shy smile and shook his head as though answering Kurt's unasked question. "Her name is Sophia We've been on a few dates. I've known her for a while from classes. I like her, but she's so…" It was Stephani's turn to blush and leave the sentence hanging. Kurt waited for him to finish, but instead he leaned across the table and tugged on the long fur on tip of Kurt's chin.

"This is cute," he said. "When did this start happening?"

"Stop that," Kurt said, slapping Stephani's hand away. "It's new. If I don't cut it as long as the rest of it every few days, it grows like crazy."

"I kind of like it," Stephani said. "It suits you, and the 'van dyke' is very in at the moment.

"I wouldn't mind borrowing a pair of scissors," said Kurt, feeling more and more insecure about it.

"No way!" Stephani said with a crooked grin. "You're at the height of Paris fashion. I won't allow it."

Kurt cupped his chin in his hand self-consciously. He shook his head in frustration and hopelessness. "I think it makes me look like I'm going to try and bargain for your soul," he said.

Stephani's expression shifted to seriousness as he the appraised Kurt's whiskered appearance. "Well, there is that," he conceded at last, "But I think you pull it off quite well. I mean, it could have been worse. You could have passed through puberty and sprouted wings or scales or something."

Kurt laughed and shook his head. "I suppose I sure consider myself lucky, " he said with a small smile.

Stephani started laughing, but then his face grew serious again. "I just can't believe you're here," he said sounding almost awestruck.

Kurt smiled. "Me neither."

"I never thought you'd ever get to see this place," Stephani said and stood up. He leaned against the narrow kitchen entranceway and gestured out past the small kitchen where they were sitting into the cozy sitting room beyond.

"What do you think?" Stephani asked, "Not bad for a gypsy kid from the circus is it?"

With the lights on the apartment was much different. The kitchen was very clean and white with very little ornaments beyond a single red vase on the table and a few pots and pans hung on hooks on the wall. A warm orange glow from lamps that focused on a few areas, the desk, a reading chair, and a one by the couch lit Stephani's cozy the sitting room. It reminded Kurt a little bit of their old caravan only much more well appointed. While their caravan had had a threadbare lived in appearance, everything in Stephani's apartment was clean and well kept.

Kurt shook his head. "It's amazing," he said.

Stephani narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of the circus," he said, "how did you get here? And how did you get in?"

Kurt looked sheepish for a moment and didn't say anything.

"I climbed. And came in through the window," he said after a little while, answering the second question first since it seemed like it would get him in less trouble than the first one. "You know, '_bamf',_" he said imitating the way everyone said it sounded when he teleported and miming a small explosion with his hands. Kurt stood up and joined Stephani in the sitting room.

"Is that picture of us in your bedroom from Father Dietrich?" he asked pointing towards Stephani's room.

"Yeah, he sent it to me a few months ago," Stephani said.

"It's a really good picture. Mind if I look at it again with the lights on? It was really dark before and I couldn't really see it."

"Kurt?"

Kurt stopped with his hand on the door to Stephani's bedroom. "Yeah?"

"How did you get to Paris?"

"Did Father Dietrich send you any extras because I'm sure mom would really a copy. She doesn't have any recent photos with all three of us."

"How did you get here Kurt?"

Kurt sat down on Stephani's chair and pulled his feet in under him. He was silent for a long time as he stared at the pattern on the rug on Stephani's spotless floor. He wanted there to be dirt there. Paris, and especially Stephani's apartment was too clean, too organized. Kurt wanted there to be dust and trucks and noise and people running around trying to get too many things done before show time. There was nothing familiar here, nothing that felt like home. "I ran away from the circus," he said finally. "I ran away to come here and find you."

Stephani's eyes went wide as he sat down across from Kurt. "Mom's going to pissed as hell," he said. "But how? How did you do it? And why?"

Kurt nodded his head in agreement. Margali was going to be angry, but what could he do? The circus wasn't making sense anymore. He was embarrassed and ashamed over what had happened with Christian's friends and had no idea how to apologize, everyone kept watching him all the time and asking him if he was "okay", and to top it all off Wolfgang had gone insane. He had to leave if he was ever going to make sense of any of this. He told Stephani about what had happened on the last night of Les Chansons on the path away from the main tent, then about Wolfgang's reaction to it, and finally his journey via mail car from Germany to Paris. He found talking about it made him feel a little better, not quite like going to confession, but it was similar.

"That's incredible Kurt. You're like an American hobo," Stephani said. "So you ran away to get away from Wolfgang and from these people who turned out to be Christian's friends?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, that's not it. I…" he paused. What was it exactly that was bothering him. He'd been pondering it the entire time he'd been traveling in the back of his mind and he still hadn't quite put it into words.

"I think it's that I don't know who I should be afraid of anymore." He said finally.

"What do you mean?" Stephani asked. "You don't have to be afraid of anyone. Or, is it because of what happened to your…" Stephani's voice trailed off but he gestured to his face. "Mom wrote me about what happened to you, about her sister I mean. You're okay right?"

Kurt nodded. "Did she tell you about what happened in Brighton?" he asked.

Stephani knitted his brow. "A little. I mean, Amanda called after it happened and then after they found you she called but it was like…" Stephani knitted his brow even tighter.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"Well, I already knew you had been found." Stephani said and shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it's just one of those things. Family members always say stuff like that. Anyway, what about Brighton?"

"I don't know," Kurt said. "I don't remember anything. One minute I was standing and looking at the water and the next I was in our trailer and Father Dietrich was there. If I don't remember what happened to me how can I prevent it from happening again?"

"I don't know," Stephani said.

"Neither do I."

"So that's what you were afraid of on the path? You were afraid those friends of Christian's were going to attack you?"

Kurt nodded. Even just talking about it here in the warmth of his brother's apartment miles away, he could still feel the same cold pit of fear in his stomach.

"What about Wolfgang then?" Stephani asked.

"I still don't understand what Wolfgang was talking about," Kurt admitted.

Stephani sat in thought with his chin in his hand for a few minutes. "Well, you're here now," he said, "What is it you want to do?"

"I want to find out more about 'mutants'. What they are and why they are discriminated against. I came here because I need to use the library." Kurt said.

Stephani looked surprised. "The library?" he exclaimed. "Surely you could have used a library somewhere in Germany. Why did you come all this way?"

Kurt shook his head. "I couldn't. Not really. If I'd asked mom or Amanda I don't think they would have let me go and they certainly wouldn't have brought me what I needed. They never tell me anything. And I couldn't ask Wolfgang."

"But they aren't the only people in the circus. What about James or Brin? What about Christian? Kurt, you were going to leave for Father Dietrich's the next morning, why didn't you just wait to ask him for help?"

"Father Dietrich is just like mom," Kurt said. "They're always trying to protect me. But what if I want to protect myself? You're not going to be like them are you? I'm tired of running and hiding all the time Stephani."

Stephani sat in silence, staring at Kurt as though he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"Can you help me?" Kurt asked after several unbearable moments of silence.

"I'm thinking," Stephani said.

Kurt was silent for several more minutes. He slumped down in his chair. Stephani was going to say "no"; he had come here for nothing after all. Finally Stephani stood up and began pacing around the room thoughtfully.

"We don't have a lot of time," he said, "The library at the Sorbonne is closed for the night and I've got tickets for the first train to out of Paris tomorrow. And now we need to get you train tickets as well. I don't know if it's possible Kurt."

Kurt stared down at the floor. He had wasted so much time. Had he not taken all his various sight-seeing detours he would have been here hours ago. Now it was too late. Or was it?

"Is the library far from here?" Kurt asked.

"Not far," Stephani said. "I can walk there. Why?"

"It's just that, I'm pretty good at getting into places after dark," he said with a sly grin, "given than I can't go to church during the day and they lock the doors at night."

"You mean break in?" Stephani said incredulously, his eyes going wide.

"We wouldn't steal anything. We'd use it just like a regular library," Kurt said. "Please," he added in response to Stephani's doubtful look.

Stephani looked past Kurt out the sitting room window as though he were looking at the library, sizing it up, thinking about the possibilities. "You're crazy," he said without looking away.

"I know," Kurt said.

"Do you know what could happen if we got caught?"

Kurt shook his head. "We won't get caught," he said.

"How do you know?" Stephani asked. Though his body language was neutral, Kurt could see him mentally wringing his hands. Stephani was so much like his mother that way except that whereas Margali did seem to enjoy a good fight once and a while, Stephani liked to live in a world that was safe, one that he could control.

"I just do. We won't." Kurt stood up and looked out the window as well. He could see he smudges from his own oddly shaped footprints from when he had clung to the window and tried to see in. Stephani said nothing but Kurt could see by the look in his eyes that his mind was already in motion.


	8. Breaking

_"Mountain climbing is an adventure, Kurt. Canoeing on the Amazon River is an adventure. This is breaking and entering."_

Margali was sitting on the steps of the rectory when Father Hans Dietrich pulled up in his aging Volkswagen. He pulled up on the parking break and got out.

"Kurt's not here," he said to her, "everyone keeps asking me, but I don't know where he is."

"It's alright," Margali said, "I do."

"You do?" He asked as he unlocked the door and motioning her through. She paused in the vestibule while he stopped to put a few books down and cross himself with the water from the small basin by the door.

"Could you let everyone in on your little secret then?" he asked, "including me."

"I can," she said, "but first, I have something more important to talk to you about."

Margali walked into the kitchen and Father Dietrich followed her curiously as she looked around for the kettle. She held it up questioningly. "Could I make you some tea Hans?"

Father Dietrich gave her a harried half smile. "Can't you just tell me where Kurt is?"

Margali shook her head. "I could, but you wouldn't understand why he was there."

"Try me."

"Paris. He's in Paris." Margali said, running water into the kettle.

"Paris!" Father Dietrich exclaimed in surprise. "Why on Earth would he go there?"

Margali lit the stove with a knowing smile. "See. I told you you wouldn't understand. Now, sit down, we'll have some tea and I'll explain everything."

* * *

Bored with their bike tour of the city, Christian had taken his friends to the square where he had spent his days performing before joining Circus Gehlhaar. They spent the early part of the evening watching the various other entertainers who had taken up residence in Christian's absence and when evening faded into night, they abandoned their bikes in a heap to watch the people who came out to enjoy Berlin's legendary nightlife.

Even when the city had been divided in two by a wall, West Berlin had been known as a European hot spot in the club scene. Now with the wall down it had only gotten wilder and more liberal. Perched upon a low dividing wall that separated the square from the street, there was plenty to see. Couples hurried from cabs into restaurants or took advantage of the mild evening to walk arm and arm through the square. Groups of women chattering in German and dressed up for an evening out clipped past wearing high heels and short skirts. It was a people watchers paradise.

Drew, Kyle, and Brett had begun rating the various girls who walked by, discussing the various merits of each before moving on to the next. Christian had done almost the same thing with Kurt and Lars and Petra, the four of them peeking out from the backstage tent and watching the audience filter in. But they had looked for funny characteristics, a silly hat, an over large moustache, or a particularly odd gait, it somehow seemed friendlier, more innocent than what they were doing now. It seemed so carnal and it just felt so wrong.

"Check her out," Brett said, nudging Christian with his elbow. Christian glanced in the direction that Brett was pointing towards the last girl in a small group lining up as they climbed into a taxi. She was a little shorter than her friends with thick legs but she had a wide smile and her hair made a cute little flip as she moved.

"She's cute," Christian said.

"Cute? What are you talking about?" Kyle said, "She's got junk in the trunk. Look at her."

Christian laughed. "She's got what?"

"Junk. In the trunk." Kyle repeated. He looked incredulous at Christian's expression of confusion. "She's got a big butt Chris." He said dryly and laughed. "You're missing out on all the good American insults living here in Europe."

Christian laughed too, getting the joke, but at the same time he had the feeling he probably wouldn't have gotten it even if he hadn't been living in Europe.

* * *

As Margali set a mug of tea down in front of him, Father Dietrich couldn't help but feel an odd sense of déjà vu. He watched the swirling leaves settle to the bottom of the still steaming water and waited for Margali to explain what was going on. Instead Margali paused to look at a photograph on the wall, three men all dressed in clerical collars, wearing nearly identical broad smiles.

"I don't remember this picture," Margali said, cupping her hands around the mug of tea she's poured for herself.

"It's new," Father Dietrich said.

"Are they…"

"Myself and my brothers. See, we're brothers AND we're fathers..." Father Dietrich let his voice trail off as though it was a joke he knew had been told too many times. "It was taken last year. The 'three Father Dietrich's'; we celebrate mass together a couple times a year. That's my brother's Church, it's only about 20 miles from this one."

Margali chucked anyway. "That's why Kurt thinks he's in Paris," she said as she sat down.

"I feel like I'm only hearing half of this conversation," Father Dietrich said dryly, scratching his head. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Kurt thinks he went to Paris to see his brother, but he really went there to postpone his visit here."

Father Dietrich shook his head. "Why would he do that? I thought Kurt liked coming here." Then the Priest paused, turning to look very seriously at Margali. "He left very strangely this summer. I was worried about him. I still am. Why wouldn't he want to return?"

"Let me see your hand," Margali said.

Still confused, Father Dietrich obliged, holding out his hand for Margali to see. She gently flipped it over and opened his fingers with her own, tracing the lines on his palm with one finger.

"This is your Life Line," she said, tracing her finger along the arc from the base of his wrist around his thumb. "It's the best kind of life line, you know. Long and clearly marked; you will possess good health and vitality; you will live a long time. The wide swooping motion of the line indicates strength, enthusiasm and," Margali said with a wink, "an satisfying love life"

Father Dietrich gave her a patient, but slightly sardonic smile.

"Now let's see what your head line has to tell us," she said, moving to trace the straight line across the center of Father Dietrich's palm. He made a motion to close his hand, but Margali shook her head. "Your head line is deep, long and straight, stretching all the way across your palm. You have a logical and direct way of thinking. It makes sense: straighter the line, the more realistic the thinking, and the deeper the line, the better the memory," Margali continued.

"Margali I don't think…" Father Dietrich began.

"No, just listen," she said, shushing him with the index finger the hand that wasn't holding Father Dietrich's palm open. "We must at last look at your heart line." She grinned knowingly and said, "A slight disregard to the true meaning of love and its responsibilities are indicated by a heart line such as yours that starts between the middle and index finger. You tend to easily give your heart away. A long heart line like yours, running almost all the way across the palm, represents an idealist in love. In love you tend to look for those above you and have a great respect for them. These small lines you see," said Margali as she traced a fringe of tiny lines, "they mean you are happy in love, satisfied with the one you have chosen." Margali motioned with her eyes towards the crucifix on the wall and for one astonished moment Father Dietrich dearly wanted to believe in her abilities. He shook his head as though trying to evade the very idea.

"You see, there's a lot that can learned from lines on your palm." Margali released his hand and took a sip of tea.

For a moment Father Dietrich looked awkward. "Margali," he said after a moment, "I'm a Catholic priest. I don't believe in palm reading."

"Those of us in the trade call it 'Chiromancy'," Margali said.

"Call it what you want," Father Dietrich said.

"You don't believe in the lines or that the lines have meaning?"

"You can't tell a man's destiny by the lines on his hands, only God knows the truth."

Margali frowned. "That's the first time you've closed your mind to something I've had to say. God or not, you can't deny that the lines are there."

"Well, yes, of course they're there, but that doesn't mean that they chart the course of my life. I didn't become a priest because my love line was long."

"That was your heart line," Margali said with a smile. "But the lines were made by you living your life, using your hands, why couldn't they have meaning to one who knew how to read them?"

"I…" Father Dietrich wasn't sure what to say. Was Margali trying to prove to him that the art of _palm reading_ or 'chiromancy' or whatever it was, of all things, was real? Why?

"And why can't they have meaning to those who believe in it?" Margali continued even more emphatically this time.

"I don't know. I don't know what this has to do with Kurt."

"I'm not talking about people, like me, reading the lines. Surely you must have an idea of what I'm talking about. Who else knows us so well that he knows the number of hairs on our heads?"

Father Dietrich was momentarily speechless. He'd had no idea that Margali read the Bible. "God? You mean God can read my palm?" Father Dietrich smiled. "It doesn't quite work that way, Margali," he said with a small laugh.

Margali shrugged. "Why not? Wouldn't who you were, defined by the work you'd spent your life doing; wouldn't it all be there for God to read?"

Father Dietrich shook his head. He still didn't know what any of this had to with the reason Kurt went to visit his brother instead of coming to Hamburg with the rest of the circus. "Well," he began, feeling slightly flustered again, "God doesn't need to. He already knows."

"But you believe in more than just God don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Angels and demons and spirits. I saw the Exorcist, Catholics believe that there's more to the supernatural than just God."

Father Dietrich stared at her a long time, feeling a little bit dazed. Finally he collected his thoughts and spoke. "I know, that you coming here, and making me tea has some significance," he said gently, "but I really do think that when I came to your house, and made you tea, I was a lot less confusing and stayed much more to the point than you are now."

Margali laughed. "I'm just trying to explain, that these lines on your palm represent a permanent record of you living your life and that since you believe in angels, I'm suggesting that maybe they are the ones so equipped to read the messages contained within."

Father Dietrich stared at his hand. "A permanent record?"

"Yes."

"Readable by angels."

"That's right."

Father Dietrich nodded, still not sure what she meant, but willing to go along with it; anything to get her to explain herself. He kept his eyes cast downward to his palm, still laid open on the kitchen table. "Okay," he said. "What does this have to do with Kurt?"

"Kurt's permanent record needed to be changed. His lines weren't valid anymore."

* * *

Christian was bored. He did another lap around the square on his bike, but as he passed Brett, Kyle, and Drew he could see they were still on the wall, still girl watching. He'd stuck around for a few minutes of it, but it had quickly become tiresome. Plus, he couldn't keep up with his friends' constant patter of commentary on the various women who passed them. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, their comments were wittier, edgier, and raunchier whereas Christian's attempts all fell flat. It seemed that despite his lifetime of always having a clever one liner for every situation nothing had prepared him for this.

So Christian had hopped back on his bike and begun circling the square. Even with the nighttime crowds he found he had enough room to pull plenty of tricks and quickly found himself with an audience. The fact that he was already back performing, not two days after they had just packed up the grueling Les Chanson's tour didn't even seem that strange to him. He was comfortable here. Whereas he'd felt impossibly out of place sitting on the wall with his friends, he felt once again at home performing in front of strangers.

"Where ya been Chris?" Brett asked as Christian finally returned to where his friends were still camped on the wall.

"Performing," he said riding into a tight circle and then pulling the brakes as he released his right foot and stepped onto the rear peg with his left. He pulled up on the front wheel as the bike spun into a tight pirouette. Throwing his weight forward he stopped his spin with his free right foot, released with his left and used the remaining momentum to swing the bike up on to his shoulder as he took a bow. It had been a hard trick in the beginning and he'd gotten his share of bruises learning it, but now, having done it hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, it was second nature to him.

Kyle laughed. "That's so awesome, dude," he said and held out a hand so Christian could climb up and join them.

"Still looking at girls?" Christian asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Yeah," Kyle said lazily, "but wait a minute." He sat up straighter. "Look at that. Can you believe that?" he asked in disbelief and pointed.

The three of them turned their gaze to follow where Kyle was pointing.

"Dude, they're fags," Drew said.

Two men wearing jeans and t-shirts were walking arm in arm through the square. Neither of them was paying attention to what was going on around them; they were looking into each other's eyes as though truly savoring even this simple act of walking together. For some reason that made Drew and Kyle's comments even more bothersome. Brett was laughing too. Christian could feel his face and neck getting hot for some reason.

"What's the big deal?" he asked.

"That's gross dude. Do you like that?" Drew asked. "Do you want some guy to hold your hand Chris?"

All three of them were staring at him now. He tried to get his brain to work, to come up with the joke that would make everyone laugh and make it okay again, but nothing happened.

Brett laughed. "Maybe living in Europe turned you into a fag Chris."

"So what if it did?" He blurted out before he could think. It was the wrong thing to say, but it didn't matter. He wasn't staying. Christian slid off the wall and jumped onto his bike. He was pedaling away before he even knew why.

* * *

Stephani looked up and down the street, wishing it were darker. It was late and other than the occasional student hurrying past, he and Kurt were alone. Still, he felt awfully exposed standing there in the middle of the street, preparing to break into the Sorbonne's library. He glanced over at Kurt who was looking appraisingly at the building's roof.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked Kurt for what seemed the hundredth time. He was sure that dressed in black, standing with Kurt in his bulky hooded coat that was all wrong for the weather they looked suspicious as hell.

"Where's your spirit of adventure?" Kurt asked, still looking up at the roof.

"Mountain climbing is an adventure, Kurt. Canoeing on the Amazon River is an adventure. This is breaking and entering."

Kurt gave a short laugh. "You never change," he said.

"Neither do you," Stephani answered.

"Well, are you ready?" Kurt asked.

"Where are we going?"

Kurt pointed to a spot on the roof just above a window with a small ledge. "There," he said. Unable to keep the worried expression off his face, Stephani followed Kurt's hand with his eyes.

"Why can't we just go right inside?" he asked.

"I need to see where I'm going first. I can look in that window and pick a safe place for us. Ready?"

Stephani shrugged. "As I'll ever be I guess," he said, and as Kurt wrapped his arms around him he suddenly felt nervous. He'd seen Kurt teleport only a dozen or so times. "I've never done this before. Do I need to do anything?" he asked.

"Yeah, try not to vomit."


	9. And Entering

_"I love her. Until death do us part. If she goes then I go with her."_

Maria pushed on the door of Brin and James' trailer open and looked inside. Even though it was midday, the shutters were still drawn and the interior was cool and dark. In the dim light she could see that the normally tidy space was strewn with clothes and various other bits of junk, as though they hadn't bothered to pack before leaving for Hamburg. It was a rare sight considering that the tiny living spaces combined with the hectic schedule meant that every member of the circus was fastidiously clean. Even a single missed day of cleaning and organizing could pile up into an insurmountable mess, debris taking over, as though it had a mind of its own.

"Anybody home?" Maria asked. She heard a single sniffle from the back of the trailer.

"Brin?" she called.

"I'm back here," Brin said.

Maria tiptoed her way through the trailer to find Brin sitting on her unmade bed, her arms wrapped around her legs and her tiny heart shaped face atop her knees.

"What are you doing?" Maria asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Brin said miserably, "I'm moping."

"May I ask why?" Maria sat down on the bed, putting a hand on Brin's shoulder.

Brin gave a snort of laughter. "It's this wedding thing. It was a bad idea." She tossed a stray sock that could have been either hers or James' on the floor for emphasis.

It was Maria's turn to laugh.

"What?" Brin asked, looking defiant.

Maria shrugged and gave a small laugh. "Every happily married couple I know, they said the same thing right before their wedding. You and James must be doing something right."

Brin scowled and threw a pillow at her.

"What's that for?"

"You're not helping," Brin said.

"Well, what do you need help with?" Maria asked, a smile still playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Nothing. Everything." Brin said, starting to cry again as she drew her knees in closer. "It just feels like everything's going wrong. I still have to do this Catholic thing with James and Father Dietrich, and…" She wiped tears away with her hands.

"Catholic thing?" Maria interrupted.

"So we can be married in the Church. My family is Methodist. I said I'd become Catholic so I've been, you know, reading about stuff… And James is like, sponsoring me…"

"Oh," Maria nodded knowingly, "You're going to be confirmed. We'll that's not a big deal."

"Yeah, but I don't have anyone to walk me down the aisle now that Kurt's gone and I'm still not Catholic. We don't even know where everyone is going to be sitting. And, I don't even have a dress yet." Brin said, suddenly looking horrified by the prospect of actually getting married.

"Kurt will come back. I don't think he's going to want to miss your wedding." Maria said.

"What if he doesn't?" Brin said in a small voice.

Maria shrugged, sitting down next to Brin and putting an arm around her. "I'm sure there is someone else in this circus who can give you away. We'll work it out. I still think it will be Kurt though."

"And my dress?"

"We'll go shopping. How about tomorrow? We'll go into Hamburg. Amanda can come too. We'll turn Hamburg upside down until we find the perfect dress, the three of us."

"Really?" Brin sniffled, trying to smile.

"Of course. It might even be fun," Maria said with a wry grin.

"Yeah," Brin said, wiping her eyes, her expression starting to brighten. At that same moment the door to the trailer opened.

"Wow. Why's it so dark in here? What's going on?" James asked, picking his way through the mess towards the back.

"Just some girl bonding," said Maria.

"Oh," James stood for a moment looking unsure of what to do, "well, I um, Father Dietrich has some stuff for us to sign, you know, before the wedding. Hey, are you crying?"

James sat down on Brin's other side.

Brin shook her head. "It's not a big deal," she said.

James frowned. He put his index finger under Brin's chin and gently turned her head. "If you're crying, it's a big deal to me," he said.

Brin sniffed, wiping her cheeks. She smiled. "It's not that bad. I'm just stressed, all the stuff we need to do. But, we'll take care of the things with Father Dietrich and then Maria and I will go in to Hamburg and shop for a dress…"

James snapped his fingers, cutting her off. "A dress!" he said.

Maria and Brin both looked confused.

"I was going to keep it a surprise for a little longer," James said, his voice sounding like he could barely contain his excitement. Brin started to look worried.

"Keep what a surprise?" She asked.

"Your dress. It's done. I had it made for you. It's arriving tomorrow!" James said, grinning.

"Oh," Brin covered her mouth with her hand, instantly horrified, looking back and forth from Maria to James. "Who? Who made it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Lysette. She has your measurements and I knew how worried you were. It's one less thing to think about." James explained.

Brin sprang to her feet, her mood switching for miserable to manic in an instant. "Lysette. Lysette!" She looked almost hysterical. "Lysette makes our costumes. She makes _Kurt's _clothes."

Maria leaned back, looking at James appraisingly, as though seeing him for the first time. "James, this is so positively 'Wolfgang' of you," she said. "I can hardly believe it."

Brin was pacing around the van, kicking various items of clothing out of her way.

"What's the problem?" James asked looking confused. "I knew Brin was worried so I tried to give her one less thing to worry about."

Maria opened her mouth to speak, but Brin beat her to it.

"The problem," Brin said, "the problem, is that one of the most important parts of getting married is picking out the dress. It's practically a rite of passage! And you've taken that away from me."

James opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"And not to mention that my biggest nightmare now is that I'm going to get married in a patchwork hippie skirt with a mismatched striped vest!" Brin slumped down to her knees on the floor, "this could ruin everything."

James looked hurt. "I was trying to help," he said defensively.

"How could this possibly help?" Brin asked, crying harder now than she had been before "how could you be this stupid!"

"Now that's unfair," James was starting to raise his voice as well.

"Unfair! God only knows what she'll come up with," she cried, beating the floor with a clenched fist.

"Stop!" Maria shouted, jumping up to stand between them with her hands out like a referee. Brin stopped wailing on the floor and stared at her. James was caught with one finger in the air, his mouth open in mid-admonishment. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "This isn't the end of the world," Maria said.

"But…" Brin started to protest.

Maria held out a stern finger and silenced her. "No, listen. James was trying to help. And we don't know what the dress will look like yet. Surely Lysette knows the difference between a wedding dress and "Kurt couture". Why don't you wait to see it and then, if you don't like it, we still have time to go dress shopping."

Maria was met with silence.

"It's just a dress," she said.

"I was trying to make things easier," James said as though he still didn't understand Brin's reaction.

Brin nodded. "Okay," she conceded.

James got up and handed her a handkerchief to blow her nose with before wrapping her up in a hug. "Thanks," he said to Maria.

Maria waved airily. "No problem, calming the 'high strung and artistic' is my specialty. I'll let you two work out the details,"she said as she walked towards the door.

It was all in a day's work.

* * *

The new fast electromagnetic trains hardly even rocked on their tracks as they sped across the European countryside. It was hard to remember one was even on a train and not simply sitting in a room filled with people. Still pretending to be asleep under his blanket with his head against the train's window, Kurt slid the thick folder of magazine articles out of his bag with one foot and attempted to clandestinely drag it up to his lap with his tail. Papers spilled out all over the floor.

"What are you doing?" Stephani hissed. "You're supposed to be sleeping. You should have just asked me to get it for you." He began gathering pages up, handing them to Kurt who carefully sorted them back into the proper order.

It had been fun sneaking around the library with Stephani in the dark. They had teleported in with little difficulty, Stephani hadn't even been bothered by it that much, and aside from a single roving security guard, had had free reign of the place. Since he could see in the dark without the aid of a flashlight, Kurt had gone into the stacks retrieving and replacing periodicals while Stephani had copied pages from them. An hour or two later, Kurt had a thick folder filled with articles about mutant encounters in both Europe and in the United States.

"There are a lot of stories about laws in America," Kurt said.

Stephani leaned over and looked at the page in Kurt's hand. "Yeah, it seems like they want to enact a lot of laws to control their movement over there, create a registration system for mutants, things like that.

"The U.S. definitely is taking a more active role, both politically and publicly," Stephani said. "I copied a bunch of articles about public demonstrations and protests for you."

Kurt leafed through the papers. "For or against?" he asked.

"Both," Stephani said. "Here's one." He handed Kurt a photocopy of a newspaper clipping that had fallen on the floor. "This one is for…" He looked at the headline, "these are people picketing for equal rights for mutants in Washington D.C."

Kurt took it and read it. "They don't want the registration act to be passed. They say it treats mutants like criminals when they've done nothing wrong," he said. He looked over at Stephani, forgetting the ruse that he was supposed to be asleep. "Why would the United States want to register mutants in the first place?"

"A lot of people are frightened of people who are different than they are," Stephani said sadly. "History tells the same story over and over."

Stephani glanced through a few of the photocopies in his hands and then traded with Kurt. "Here's something funny," he said, "look at the picture." He gestured to the grainy black and white newspaper photo on top, "that looks like Wolfgang, but with long hair."

Kurt laughed and took a closer look. It did look a lot like Wolfgang with long hair. Several of the people in the background held up signs that emblazoned with the slogans "End Mutant Enrollment at NYU" and "NYU Mutants Out!" Kurt furrowed his brow in thought. NYU. That was New York University. Wasn't that were Wolfgang had gone to college in America?

Up at the front of the crowd was a handsome young man with his thick dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. The man in the sign looked angry, his mouth caught open mid-shout, but the features were familiar. The dark eyes were the same, as were the chiseled cheekbones and long straight nose. The more Kurt looked at the picture, the more unmistakably Wolfgang it became. And yet, the expression of anger on his face and the sign he carried made him wonder how it could possibly be Wolfgang at all. The sign said "Mutants Murderers".

Kurt didn't want to read the caption under the photo, but he couldn't help himself and for a moment it was like his heart stopped. "Washington Square: New York University students, led by Wolfgang Wagner, protest mutant enrollment after the incident at the school last week." The words hit him like a blow to the chest and he felt his blood run cold. He is emotions seemed to sort through anger, to fear, to sadness, to shock as though they were a deck of cards. Was this really Wolfgang? _His_ Wolfgang?

Kurt looked back at the photo as though seeing it for the first time. He hadn't seen the bullhorn in Wolfgang's hand or the determined look on his face the first time. He hadn't seen the hatred that was there. Until now. And there was no mistaking who it was. He'd seen that same expression on Wolfgang's face just a few days earlier, when Wolfgang had backed him up against the wall.

"They'll find you and they'll take you away Kurt. They'll lock you up and they'll experiment on you and it won't matter why you did what you did, just that you did it." The words still rang in Kurt's ears. Is this what Wolfgang had meant?

Kurt shook his head and looked up. "Stephani?"

"Mmm." Stephani mumbled from behind another stack of papers.

"Look at this." Kurt said. He felt like he was dreaming. He'd trusted Wolfgang. Wolfgang was his friend. He held the page back for Stephani to see.

"I saw that one," Stephani said.

"It really is Wolfgang," Kurt said.

"Are you sure?"

Kurt pointed to the photo caption and watched as Stephani's expression turned from curiosity to shock.

"What do we do?" Kurt asked. He watched the shock on Stephani's face dissolve back into the calm schooled exterior that he presented to the world; the poor gypsy kid turned academic.

"We'll go back just like we planned," Stephani said, "And then we'll talk to Wolfgang."

* * *

James expected to have the church to himself as he climbed the narrow stairs to the choir loft. He was surprised to find the place already occupied.

"Planning on a recital?" James asked.

"I'm hiding," Wolfgang said. "You?"

"Recital."

"So you're hiding from Brin then?" Wolfgang said.

"She didn't like my idea to have her wedding gown made for her. It was supposed to be a surprise. She hated the idea," James said, forlornly sitting down on the organ bench.

Wolfgang covered his mouth to hide his laughter. "You expected different?"

James shrugged. "I thought she'd be happy."

Wolfgang shook his head. "Never buy clothes for a woman. First rule."

"First rule of what?"

"Of being male. That's the first rule." Wolfgang said.

James furrowed his brow. "What's the second rule?" He asked.

"If she asks you 'Do I look fat in this?' say anything but yes."

James laughed. "How many rules are there? Do you have like a book or something?"

Wolfgang shrugged and shook his head laughing too. "I can't believe you bought Brin's wedding dress," he said, still chuckling, "that's so cute it's kind of sick."

James fixed Wolfgang with a sardonic glare. "Thanks," he said. James reached over and turned the key to start the organ's air compressor. He listened to it filling the bellows and then placed his hands on the keys. He played the opening bars to Les Chansons.

"Oh, please, anything but that," Wolfgang said.

James laughed and switched to Bach. "So, from whom are you hiding?" He asked, still playing.

"Funny you should ask that," Wolfgang said, "because the third rule is don't get involved with fiery Italian women who are smarter than you are. They all want to get married."

"Well, you did propose," said James.

"I know."

"And it has been several years now."

"That's true."

"So, you think maybe it's time?" James transitioned neatly from Bach to Wagner's wedding march, not an easy feat since they were in different key signatures.

"Perhaps, but there are… Stipulations." Wolfgang said.

"Stipulations?"

"You see I promised her that when we got married, I'd leave the circus."

"So I recall."

Wolfgang shook his head. "I'm just not ready to do that yet. Les Chansons was good, but… But I made so many mistakes. I think we could do it better, not just the show, but also the tour, everything. I already have ideas."

James nodded. "Yeah, I've been thinking about new music," he said.

"So, I'm not ready. _We're_ not ready. But…" Wolfgang suddenly looked worried.

"But what?" James asked, taking his hands off the keys and turning around.

"But what if she gets tired of waiting? What if she leaves?"

James furrowed his brow. "Well, what do you want?"

There was a long pause during which Wolfgang sat clenching and unclenching his hands, listening to James noodling on the organ. Finally he straightened and ran brushed his hair back out of his eyes.

"I love her," Wolfgang said. "Until death do us part. If she goes then I go with her."

James nodded. "Then why hide from her?"

Wolfgang was silent for a moment, staring at the floor. "I keep thinking of Nina," he said after a long pause. "It's the same promise I made to Nina."


	10. Who ARE these people?

Because I'm about to start posting new stuff again, I thought I'd start with this

I know that a lot has gone on and there are a lot of original characters to keep track of. Not to mention that the last actual chapter post was made in 2006. So just to make life a little easier, here is an easy solution to the question – **Who are these people and what have they been up to?**

**Trapeze (Sweden):** This is the family trapeze troupe that Kurt performs with. He is at present the only non-Olsson member of Licka pa Himmelen

**Nils and Sven Olsson: **They are brothers who grew up performing in Russia. They were former Olympic gymnasts and now are the porters (or catchers).

**Papa and Annika Olsson: **Husband and Wife (lead coaches and no longer performing)

**Lars and Petra Olsson: **Children of Papa and Annika. (They are 2nd cousins to Nils and Sven and along with Kurt, they are the 3 main flyers for the troupe.)

Kurt Wagner's relations and friends:

**Kurt Wagner (Germany)/ Nightcrawler: **Well, the whole story is about him… He's had some adventures away from the circus again. After mistakenly attempting to defend himself from a group of American tourists Kurt runs away to France to find his brother. While in Paris he visits Notre Dame, does an impromptu performance in the park, and visits the Lourve where he sees an old familiar face in a painting. He and Stephani return to the circus by train.

**Margali Szardos (German/Hungarian): **Kurt's adopted mother. Once the undisputed matriarch of the circus, she is much less involved in the business of running it.

**Amanda Szardos (German/Irish): **Margali's daughter and Stephani's half sister. She, Brin, and Maria are all good friends and it appears that she has a crush on Christian.

**Stephani Szardos (German/Italian): **Margali's son and Amanda's half brother. He hasn't lived with the circus since he was twelve. Stephani is living in Paris and studying at the Sorbonne.

**Hans Dietritch (German): **Priest and the sole pastor of St. Stephan's Catholic Church outside of Hamburg Germany. At the moment the circus is parked in the field below the rectory.

**Azazel (?):** Kurt's father who has big plans for his son. Kurt worked pretty hard to make sure Azazel stays out of the picture in Even Angels Have Scars.

**Martruska Szardos (Hungarian): **Margali's sister and a gypsy sorceress who still believes in the "old ways". She helped Kurt solve his "Azazel problem".

Additional Performers:

**Lysette (France): **Once a performer with the circus, she switched to their costume design. She does not live with the circus, but travels to them when they need her.

**Wolfgang Wagner (Austrian): **Circus Manager, writer, painter, jack of all trades. He hasn't really been himself lately. He severely scolded Kurt after the incident with the tourists and has begun talking about "mutant conspiracies" and a girl named Nina.

**Maria Castellano (Italian): **Wolfgang's girlfriend from NYU. Shortly before their graduation, Wolfgang promised to marry her "in a year". That was nearly five years ago. Maria is a very smart and independent woman so Wolfgang is concerned she might not want to wait around forever.

**James Brown (American): **Composer, keyboards, band leader. James was brought to Europe by Wolfgang to write new music for the circus. At the moment however, he is struggling to plan his own wedding to his long time girlfriend Brin.

**Brianna Taggert (American): **dance choreographer. Brin arrived shortly after James and the two of them live together. She is a bit high strung, but very excited about her upcoming wedding, even if James did commission a wedding dress for her as "a surprise".

**Christian Alexander (American): **Bicycle tricks. Christian came to Germany from California were he was a competitor on the BMX bike circuit who couldn't win a single contest. Wolfgang saw him performing on the streets of Berlin and invited him to join them. Christian is the closest thing Circus Gehlharr has to a clown. Christian lives in the Szardos' trailer with Margali, Kurt, and Amanda but at the moment he is away as well - traveling around Berlin with some old friends from the U.S.

Character comes from the Marvel X-Men Universe


	11. Journey's End

_"The confession is over until I have an explanation."_

Kurt and Stephani stayed off the main roads and stuck to wooded paths. In that way, it almost felt like one of their childhood adventures. Stephani had found a good straight branch and was using it like a walking stick, swinging it forward with each one of his long strides. Kurt walked a little a head of him, picking out the path with his sharp eyes in the early morning light as easily as if it were mid-afternoon.

"The train station is a lot further from Father Dietrich's than I remember," Kurt said.

"We always had someone to pick us up," Stephani said. "And you were always pretending to be asleep the whole time anyway."

"Oh, yeah. That's right," Kurt conceded. They were silent for a long time after that, the only sound that of their footsteps on paths that alternated between packed dirt and concrete depending on how populated the neighborhood was.

"Do you want me to jump us again?" Kurt asked when they reached a clearing where they could see well ahead of them.

Stephani shrugged. "Sure. It's a lot faster. You're not tired from before?" he asked, referring to how a mile or so back when Kurt, too tired to continue, had accidentally teleported them in place.

Kurt shook his head. "No, I'm fine now. Ready?" He slid his arms out of his rucksack and dropped it on the ground.

Stephani nodded, putting his backpack besides Kurt's. Kurt had discovered this was the easiest way to keep track of everything since himself and another person plus the luggage was a lot to teleport with. The two of them stood over their bags, as close together as they could. Kurt focused on the horizon.

There was a loud crack that seemed to come almost from within their ears, and they were standing about a mile from where they started.

"It looks like I've got room to do a couple more," Kurt said, looking at the landscape of gently rolling hills ahead of them. Obediently Stephani leaned in, putting his arms around Kurt's shoulders.

"You're the first person I've met who isn't bothered by this," Kurt said.

"Well, you're ugly, but we are brothers. I don't mind giving you a hug once and a while," Stephani quipped with a grin.

"No, I'm serious," Kurt said, "Everyone else gets sick, especially if they've never done it. And the one time I took Wolfgang twice in a row, he passed out."

Stephani shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "It's weird, but it doesn't really bother me all that much. It's like being momentarily car sick and then it goes away."

Kurt stepped back and scratched his head. "I don't get it."

"Well, don't knock it. Think about how long it would be taking us to walk all this way," Stephani said.

"True. But, doesn't it seem strange to you? I mean, everybody else…"

"I don't know why, Kurt," Stephani interrupted him irritably. "It just doesn't bother me. We're not going to figure it out standing here anyway. The person you want to ask is mom anyway; she knows about all this supernatural stuff."

Kurt nodded. "I guess you're right," he said. He stepped back into position over their packs and put his arms around Stephani's shoulders as Stephani did the same to him. "Ready? We're almost there now."

Stephani nodded. "Let's go home," he said and suddenly in front of them, the lights of St. Stephen's Chapel could be seen on its tiny hill, just a short distance ahead. Below it, spread out over the open field that the circus had rented so many times was a small city of tents and trailers.

It did look like home.

Stephani stopped. "My God, it hasn't changed," he said. "It's exactly like I remember it."

"It hasn't been that long," Kurt said.

"It's been long enough," Stephani. "Long enough that it looks good to be back."

Shouldering their packs, the two of them started down the hill, both ready for the journey to be over.

* * *

Father Dietrich sat in the cramped interior of St. Stephen's confessional booth with his hands folded in his lap. He normally waited out in the nave when he wasn't needed, but that morning he had been listening to a steady stream of confessions in Romanian, Russian, and German so he didn't bother to leave his seat. Listening to confessions in such a variety of languages was always a signal to him that the circus was indeed, in town.

The Wollecks, the Circus Gehlhaar's tightwire troupe, were all Roman Catholic, Romania's second largest religious affiliation and by far the largest single family unit in the circus. They seemed to be getting even larger as well since every year or two they produced a baby for him to baptize. Father Dietrich had been quite pleased when the Wolleck's joined Circus Gehlhaar because it at last allowed Kurt to live in a community of Catholics, something that had been missing from his life until then.

The other sign that the circus was in town was, of course, a visit from Kurt and so it seemed strange that that hadn't happened yet. Then again he had his meeting with Margali to ponder over. Father Dietrich still wasn't quite sure what she was trying to tell him. He didn't feel right dismissing her ideas as heretical as he had always respected her as a friend and as a good mother to her children, but it bothered him somewhat that it seemed that Kurt had become involved in activities that that could only be described as occult. It bothered him even more that Margali seemed to condone and possibly could have encouraged these activities.

Father Dietrich frowned. He wished he could just talk to Kurt. He wanted to understand what Margali meant by, "Kurt's permanent record needed to be changed. His lines weren't valid anymore." They had spoken for almost an hour after she'd made this baffling pronouncement and he still didn't feel like he was any closer to understanding what was going on. Actually he was rather horrified by what Margali had told him. She'd tried to present it as a sort of "coming of age ritual", but to Father Dietrich it sounded like Margali's sister had held Kurt captive in the woods and forced him to mutilate himself under the pretense that it would hide his fate from the supernatural. And what was worse, it seemed that Kurt had volunteered.

It was a mortal sin, breaking the first commandment, not to mention practicing what sounded to him like witchcraft. Surely he'd taught Kurt better than that. And yet it seemed he clearly hadn't. Father Dietrich shut his eyes against the tears that threatened to break free and slide down his cheeks. It broke his heart just thinking about it.

* * *

Brin stood before the mirror, her arms at her sides, not saying a word, her face inscrutable. She turned around, looking at the back and shifted the fabric a bit, watching the layers fall back around her tiny feet. Then she shifted the dress from side to side a bit as though testing its fit before finally attempting a full spin to watch the petal like layers of satin flare out evenly. She stopped and looked straight on in the mirror again.

"It's…" James started to say, but both Maria and Lysette shushed him in unison.

Brin went through the whole sequence twice more before finally turning around, grinning.

"I love it." She announced.

James let out the breath he'd been holding and Maria grabbed his arm just incase he went down.

"I love it! I love it! I love it!" Brin said running over to hug James, smothering him with kisses. "How did you know? How did you know it would be exactly what I wanted? I was so afraid it would look like Kurt's clothes."

Lysette scoffed. "I make Kurt his clothes from scrap box. You think I make wedding dress from scrap? I go to couture sewing school in Paris after I leave circus. Work at atelier. I know what looks beautiful on pretty girls." she said dismissively, waving an arm at Brin.

Brin laughed. "I was so worried," she said breathlessly.

"Me too," James said.

"So we have a happy ending then?" Maria asked. She sounded ready to move onto the next crisis.

Brin's face fell comically. "Not yet. We still have to get married," she said.

* * *

Kurt and Stephani had reached, as it were, a crossroads. In one direction lay the neat rows of trailers and tents that was their living quarters and in the opposite, the front door of St. Stephens.

"I'm going to go in," Kurt said, "to the church." He nodded in its direction.

Stephani smiled, nodded in understanding and turned, re-shouldering his pack for the last leg of journey to the living quarters below them.

The interior of the church was dark, cool, and familiar. Kurt could smell centuries of incense smoke that had settled indelibly to every tapestry, the wood of the pews, and even the stone itself. He genuflected towards the tabernacle and then considered what to do next.

Kurt normally climbed the narrow spiral staircase into the choir loft above, but when the church was empty, he might even sit in the nave. A murmured voice told Kurt the church was not empty however and he pulled his hood up quickly. The sound had come from the direction of the tiny wooden confessional in the far corner and Kurt saw the light was on above it.

So. This was his chance. His chance to explain everything to Father Dietrich – the reason he'd left so abruptly, the results of his journey with Azazel through … well, he still wasn't sure where he'd walked through, not to mention his idiotic behavior on the last night of their show. Kurt sighed. Not only would he be here for hours, he wasn't sure if everything he'd done necessarily warranted absolution. It seemed suddenly that world might be more complex than simply sins and forgiveness.

Still, he had to at least try.

Silent as a cat, Kurt padded across the floor, set down his rucksack and knelt opposite the priest's enclosure. If he was lucky, this was one of the days when one of the other local parish priests came to St. Stephen's to hear confessions. It would be so much easier if what he had to tell just came across as the mindless and varied wanderings of a deluded young man instead of how they would have sounded to Father Dietrich, who had been there.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been …" He wasn't sure. Months. Months at least since he'd last confessed. Kurt took a deep breath, "too long since my last confession."

Then Kurt didn't wait. He launched into it quickly, too afraid he'd lose his nerve.

"I've sinned in both word and deed," he began. "First, I committed violence and then I ran away from the circus without telling anyone. And I stole passage on a train, but only because I didn't have any money and even if I did I don't think I could have bought a ticket. Also, I broke into a library in the middle of the night. And also my brother's apartment, but I didn't steal anything." Kurt paused. Those were the easy ones. Taking another moment to collect his thoughts, he began again, this time with the much more difficult aspect of what he had to confess, "And before that I … Before that I left … uh," Kurt faltered.

Now that he was trying to say it all aloud, it was more awkward than he thought it would be. Did he explain about Azazel? About learning he could teleport? Or did he jump right into the really juicy sins of self mutilation and participating in occult magic? Would they be any less sinful if he claimed a reason for it?

Then again, wasn't what he had done rooted in his desire to seek God and be free of evil influences? Had not Martruska's magic involved the various choirs of God's own Angels? Azazel was certainly no Michael or Gabriel, but wasn't he still technically, an angel? Was there a way that it could be explained not as an act of defiance, but an act of faith?

He was still deliberating these finer points when a voice came from the other side of the screen.

"Kurt?" It was Father Dietrich's voice.

"Yes?" Kurt cringed inwardly. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted and was suddenly glad for the screen.

Despite his momentary revelation that maybe all this had not been in vain, Kurt had never so much felt like a freak as he did right now, sitting in the church where he'd been baptized, his face decorated with magical symbols that he'd … put there. It seemed to defy explanation and for the first time it occurred to him. 'Was this grounds for excommunication?' Kurt wished he'd thought of that before he agreed to Martuska's plan.

"Where have you been?" Father Dietrich sounded angry on the other side of the screen; speaking as though he was scolding a small child.

"I've …" Kurt wasn't expecting this. He'd never been interrupted during a confession before. Before he could try to explain, he was interrupted again.

"Do you have any idea how worried everyone is?"

"Well, I …" Kurt hadn't really considered that when he'd left. At the time it seemed that he wasn't exactly wanted or needed and that leaving without telling anyone, while an inconvenience, wouldn't be looked upon with concern.

"Not to mention how concerned I've been," Father Dietrich continued, "They way you left last summer… Everybody stopping by asking where you are… And what's this Margali has been telling me about you dabbling in black magic?"

"I wasn't …" Kurt started to say.

"I want you to go to the rectory and wait there. I'll meet you in a few minutes, as soon as lock up in here."

Kurt jumped. This wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. "But… Father, my confession!"

"The confession is over until I have an explanation." Kurt jumped back in surprise as the panel on the other side of the screen slammed shut. He sat for a moment pondering what to do and then finally, without a word, he gathered up his things and left the church.


	12. Pledged to Victory

_" I will never hide again."_

Kurt sat in the little garden looking at the flowers he'd helped plant. It seemed like he spent more time in this garden in moonlight than he did in sunlight. Yet that seemed appropriate somehow; the smooth alabaster stone of the Virgin Mary statue taking on a pale bluish hue while the plants surrounding her took on an aura of shadowed mystery. It recalled the garden at Gesthemene, except he wasn't alone; the Virgin Mother was there, keeping watch over him and her flowers. Kurt pulled his rosary from his pocket, running the beads through his fingers thoughtfully.

So he had returned, but to what end? He couldn't even tell his friends from his foes anymore. He had gone to Paris with questions and he had come back with even more of them. He was so tired of hiding, especially when he no longer knew who to hide from.

Kurt had not gone to the rectory as Father Dietrich had told him to. He hadn't even bothered to drop his rucksack off at the family's caravan. It was clear he had misjudged everything and everyone. He had returned, only to find things just as confusing as they had been when he had left. So now he sat, having arrived, but not truly having returned.

Kurt sighed and then brought his rosary to his forehead, making the sign of the cross and then beginning the Apostle's Creed.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth. And in …"

Then he paused. There was a strange light in the distance, a tiny point of light bouncing in the darkness. It was too bright to be a flashlight and the way it was moving was like nothing he had ever seen. Kurt frowned. It seemed to be getting closer but it was hard to tell.

"…And in Jesus Christ, His only son, Our Lord. Who was conceived by the power of the Holy …"

It was getting closer.

Kurt stood up, kissing the rosary quickly before shoving it back in his pocket. He could pray later. He watched the light come closer and closer, spreading out into a wide cone illuminating the grass as it bounced and hopped towards him. Not sure whether he wanted to face whatever it was that was coming, Kurt went to crouch behind the statue. He held his breath squinting his eyes as he tried to make out what it could be.

Then, like a picture coming into focus, Kurt understood what it was. He stood up and waved.

"Christian!"

The cyclist swerved and altered his path at the sound of Kurt's voice. A moment or two later he was skidding to a stop in front of him. Kurt was so happy to see Christian that for a moment he forgot that the last time they had seen each other was on the path on that horrible night before he had left. Remembering it, he wasn't entirely sure what to say.

"Well, I decided to come back," Christian said, shaking bangs that were damp with sweat out of his eyes.

Kurt was confused. He wasn't aware that Christian had left. He stared at the ground and swallowed hard.

"Oh, did you leave because of what I… Because I was…" he began awkwardly but he couldn't say it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what happened… to…" But then Kurt realized he didn't even know their names.

To Kurt's surprise Christian started laughing.

"That's not why I left," he said, "I left because I thought I could get a better gig, you know, maybe go back to the states. It didn't work out." Christian shifted back and forth on the pedals for a moment and Kurt realized that he was feeling equally awkward.

Kurt smiled too, relieved that he wasn't the cause of Christian's unexpected departure along with all the other trouble he'd caused. He nodded. "Why not?" He asked.

Christian hopped off the bike and waved the question away. "Dude, you don't even want to know. All I know is I was in Berlin and I missed you guys."

"Did you bike here from Berlin?" Kurt asked incredulously.

"No way could I have done that, dude. That so would have sucked. I took the train and biked from the station."

Kurt laughed, realizing how much he'd missed the little things about the circus, like hearing Chris' weird American slang translated into German. "I missed you too," he said, "and I really am sorry about what happened before, to your friends I mean."

Christian dropped his bike and grabbed Kurt in a sweaty hug, mussing up his hair with one hand. "Totally don't worry about it". He let Kurt go and looked around. "They turned out to be less fun than I remembered. What are you doing out here all alone anyway?" he asked.

Kurt sighed. "Got an hour?" he asked. "It's a long story."

Christian shrugged and sat down at the edge of the garden, offering Kurt a Power Bar and a bottle of water.

Kurt shook his head and sat down, understanding that the offering meant that Christian had as long as it was going to take. So he began telling Christian about his trip, about visiting the museum, and finding Stephani and their trip to the library together. But most of all he told Christian about the reasons he went to Paris, because he knew that Christian, maybe more than most understood what had happened in Brighton. That the most frightening part hadn't been being attacked, it had been all the things that had happened afterwards. He told Christian all the things he was afraid to tell Father Dietrich. To his surprise, Christian remained silent the whole time, listening intently and not cracking a single joke.

"I'm so tired of hiding," Kurt said when he was done, "of not knowing who to hide from, of everybody trying to protect me all the time, but from what? I'm so tired of always having questions."

"So, did going to Paris help?" Christian asked, still chewing on the last of the Power Bar.

Kurt shook his head. "No, I'm even more confused than before." He didn't even want to tell Christian what he and Stephani had found on the train; that just made things worse, especially after the way Wolfgang had behaved the night he left. Kurt could feel his eyes welling up with tears. He shut them and turned away from Christian, wiping them hard with the back of his hand.

"I just don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore," Kurt said. "As long as I'm performing, I'm safe, but then what? What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to live?" He stared at Christian questioningly.

Christian was silent for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You know," he said at last, "I didn't even want to take German. I wanted to take Spanish."

Kurt said nothing. He was not even sure what Christian meant or how this statement had anything to do with his trip to Paris, his situation now, or anything else for that matter. He wondered for a moment if Christian was even the right person to talk about this with. He had listened, but now it was very possible that he would just turn it into one of his jokes and that would be it. He'd be left with the same questions.

"In high school, all my friends were in Spanish class, but my freshman year they did the class registration in reverse alphabetical order so I went last and Spanish was full." Christian explained matter-of-factly, as though Kurt dealt with the minutiae of the California public school system every day.

"I had to take a language if I wanted to get into college. So I could take French or German, but French sounds so feminine. All that 'Bonjour Mademoiselle!' stuff. I didn't want to sound like a girl. But German, German sounds so tough you know? I didn't know I'd be good at it. I didn't know I'd do all that foreign exchange, and study abroad stuff. I had no idea I was going to live in Berlin or join a circus. I just didn't want to take French in high school!"

Kurt was baffled. He'd never thought of German as particularly tough or French as a female language. He'd grown up with both and … they were just languages. He opened his mouth to speak, not sure what he was going to say, but fairly certain he was supposed to say something. Thankfully, Christian was speaking again before Kurt could make a sound.

"And do you know why I ended up in Berlin?" Christian asked, "Do you know why I ended up as a street performer?"

Kurt shook his head.

"I couldn't win any contests on my bike. I trained as hard as everyone else, harder even. And I'd get out there," Christian paused, looking off into an imaginary distance, as though he was watching a film of himself from the past. "I'd get out there," and then shaking his head as though it still baffled him, he said, "and I just wouldn't win. I'd pull all sorts of sick moves, catch major airtime and … the points just didn't rack up. There was always someone else standing on the podium with the prize money, you know?"

Kurt was fairly sure he didn't, but he nodded his head anyway.

"So then my sponsorships started getting pulled and I couldn't scrape together the cash to enter." Christian sighed. "After a while I had to quit."

"So what did you do then?" Kurt asked.

"That's when I came to Germany," Christian said. "At first I tried to compete here, but the competition circuit was so small it wasn't worth it. Yeah I won, but there was no money in it, no sponsorships, nothing. So I was stuck with working as a translator or as a tour guide or something. I tried the tour guide thing, dragging American tourists around Berlin and interpreting for them, but most Germans speak such good English it was hardly necessary. So one day I called in sick and rode my bike around in a public square." Christian's eyes lit up as he remembered it. "And it was so great. Germans hadn't really been exposed to BMX stuff yet, not like the Americans had at least. It was completely new to everyone. I had a huge audience and I made more in tips that day than I normally made in a week. So I quit my job the next day."

"Were you happy when Wolfgang asked you to join us then? Because it was less work than riding around on the street?" Kurt asked, remembering his morning performing in the park in Paris.

Christian opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. He was silent, as though considering what he wanted to say. It was something Kurt wasn't used to seeing. Christian was always the one with the quick one liner, he wasn't known for his contemplative nature, but right now he wasn't joking.

"I made more money as a street performer than I do performing with Circus Gehlhaar," Christian said at last.

"You did? Why didn't you go back then?"

Christian sighed again, pausing and considering. "It's complicated," he said at last, "I didn't go because I wanted to be in the circus, I went because I wanted to be with Wolfgang."

Kurt was confused. "Wolfgang?"

Christian nodded. "When Wolfgang approached me in Berlin, I … I wanted to go be with him," he said.

"What do you mean, 'be with him'?" Kurt asked. It was looking like he wasn't the only one with complications even if he couldn't understand quite what Christian was talking about.

Christian rolled his eyes and suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Look," he said, "I thought he was gay. And I was… and I'm gay. So I thought maybe me and Wolfgang could you know…" Christian trailed off, scanning Kurt's face for a reaction. There wasn't one, just stunned silence.

"It's not bad is it?" Christian asked, "You know because of all the stuff you believe in," He nodded his head towards the church.

Kurt jumped to life realizing that what Christian had just done was confess something to him that hadn't been easy. It wasn't right to just sit there staring no matter how surprising the news. "No," he said quickly, "of course not. But Wolfgang…"

"Has Maria. I know." Christian said with a resigned nod. "But by the time I realized there was no possible way, I was here and I liked it. I liked riding my bike in a circus. I liked YOUR circus." He shrugged. "So I stayed."

"But Amanda?" Kurt said. He was absolutely flabbergasted. He had thought they were a couple. Amanda was always staring at Christian. Talking to him. Dancing with him at the Les Chansons wrap party…

Christian shrugged. "We're friends," he said.

"But I thought the two of you were …", Kurt trailed off. Together? Dating? What? It took him a moment to realize that Christian had NOT danced with Amanda at the party. Kurt hadn't gone to the party. He had imagined them together and now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure what it had looked like to him other than the fact that Amanda paid a lot more attention to Christian than he did to her.

In light of this realization, Kurt couldn't help the corners of his mouth twitching up into a small smile when he thought of how Amanda had washed his hair the day he'd returned to the circus in France.

"But why didn't you tell us? No one would have cared."

"Oh." Christian laughed sounding a lot happier than he had a moment ago. "I don't know. I guess… Well, extreme sports is so heterosexual and well, I could tell that whole story about losing all my competitions again only leaving in the part where I got caught in the back of a van with another competitor. Neither of us ever won another contest again. I guess I got used to hiding it."

Kurt laughed. "I know that feeling," he said. It was strange to think that all this time Christian had been hiding too and he'd never known it. It suddenly seemed that disguises came in all forms. "I guess… I guess that's why I'm sitting here instead of with everybody else."

Christian turned away, looking down the hill at the cluster of trailers; at their friends and family who, at this moment were oblivious to their presence.

"So this is it then," Christian said, turning back and straightening after a moment of silent consideration.

"This is what?"

"This is it. We have to make the pledge." Christian held up one hand and gestured for Kurt to do the same. Confused, Kurt slowly raised his hand to mimic Christian's gesture.

"What pledge?" Kurt started to ask, but Christian shushed him and cleared his throat importantly.

Standing like a soldier at attention he began in an authoritative voice, "From this day on," and then paused. Kurt sat there with his mouth open. What were they doing?

"Repeat it," he prompted when Kurt remained silent.

"Repeat?"

"Repeat the pledge," Christian said, rolling his eyes. "From this day on,"

"From this day on," Kurt said.

"I promise never to deny my true nature from those I love and trust."

Kurt laughed, grinning. "I promise never to deny my true nature from those I love and trust."

"I will be true to myself above all else."

"I will be true to myself above all else," Kurt repeated.

"I will never hide again."

"I will never hide again."

Christian laughed as though he couldn't help but relieve the pressure from being so serious for such a long time. "It's done now, Jesus' mom is our witness, we have to do what we promised," he said.

Kurt looked over at the statue of the Blessed Virgin, looking serenely down at her flowerbed, her arms opened as though welcoming them into the tiny garden and it did seem like she had been their witness. Kurt nodded, grinning even wider.

"I can't think of a better one to hold us to our promise," he said and stood up, brushing himself off. "I have some people I need to talk to."

Christian stood as well and brushed himself off. "I could go and unpack," he said. "Is my bunk still open?"

They started walking towards the tiny lit city of trailers and tents, Christian rolling his bike easily along side them.

"I think so," Kurt said.

"Then it's good to be home," Christian said.

Kurt grinned. "Yeah, it is."


End file.
